


Tower of Withering Hearts

by serenescribe, solsticeScriptures



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rapunzel Elements, Reunions, Swearing, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenescribe/pseuds/serenescribe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solsticeScriptures/pseuds/solsticeScriptures
Summary: The stranger was still trying to shout at him, his words growing louder and louder. Ignoring the way that his heart thrummed faster and his palms grew uncomfortably sweaty, Felix turned back to the window. He knelt at the window seat, poking his head out of the tower.Whatever sharp insult he had prepared for the fool of a stranger died on his tongue.Because standing at the foot of the tower, though far away and hard to hear, was one Sylvain Jose Gautier, his childhood friend, staring up at him, a lance strapped against his back. His hair—his distinctively recognisable, stupidlybright, orange hair—stuck out like a sore thumb in the field of green grass and trees surrounding the clearing below.And judging by the way Sylvain’s face twisted from what seemed like a confident smile into puresurprise, Felix was willing to bet that Sylvain hadn’t expected to see him either.There's a rumour about a beautiful maiden with long hair, locked in a tower guarded by vicious dragons, awaiting her knight in shining armor.Except Felix is decidedlynota damsel in distress, the dragons are nice, and the knight is his childhood friend.





	Tower of Withering Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> written for sylvix week day 3: fairytales
> 
> this fic took me nearly two weeks to write. what started as a fun suggestion by my friend while he was helping me brainstorm for fic ideas to write for sylvix week turned into this 31k words giant of a fic. i don't think i've ever written this much in one go before. and as much as i complained and cried about it, it feels really good in the end, to look over the fic and see everything i've written for it.
> 
> a huge thanks to [pix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxyofice), [fris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frislass_chal), skep, taru and nimi for helping me with this fic, with beta reading it and/or just generally giving me encouragement. y'all are the best.

_ There was a legend, a myth, a story of sorts, people often said, whispering it across the lands as rumours began to spread. _

_ Of a damsel in distress, a fair maiden, locked up in a tall tower, guarded ferociously by dragons. _

_ People whispered rumours of the maiden’s unusually long hair, her dark curls the only way for a knight in shining armor to rescue her. _

_ To slay the dragons and climb up her hair, embracing her in a true love’s kiss, before sweeping her away to a happily ever after. _

* * *

“...Or so the story goes,” Flayn finished, rolling up the tattered parchment in her hands. Her green eyes shone as she gave him a beaming smile. “I find all these stories to be quite fascinating, really! It’s incredible how much humanity can twist the truth to fit their own likings. I would have never thought they would depict us as bloodthirsty dragons!”

Felix stared at her, gritting his teeth. The brush in his hand dangled aimlessly in the air, forgotten in favour of glaring at the girl across from him. “A damsel in _ distress?! _”

“Is it not too far off from the truth though?” Flayn’s voice grew faint as she got up, disappearing through a doorway into the study, parchment in hand. “After all, you do have such luscious hair! It’s no wonder that people would assume you were a beautiful maiden, desperately waiting for some gallant knight to come and save her.”

“I’d rather die in a ditch.”

“Than let yourself be rescued, you mean?” Flayn had returned, parchment gone in favour of a leather journal, the brown covered weathered with time and use. Perching on the edge of a cushioned chair, Flayn opened the book, readying a quill. She gave Felix a grin, her fangs flashing. “I suppose I should record that one down then, correct?”

Felix scoffed, leaning back in his chair across from his green-haired companion. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

He heard the _ scritch-scratch _of the quill against paper, before it stopped. Flayn was biting her lips, staring at the half-filled page, smudged with wet ink. She glanced up at him. “What amount would you rank this rumour at? I would personally love to give it a seven or an eight, but…”

“One.” His voice was flat, with no room for complaints. Felix resumed brushing the comb through his hair, muttering a curse under his breath as he worked to untangle his knotted hair. “It’s stupid. It’s illogical. It’s—”

“Romantic?” Flayn sighed dreamily, eyes fluttering. “Oh, I would _ love _to see that! A beautiful saviour, who sweeps you off your feet, rescuing you from the clutches of this menacing tower—”

“You _ do _ realise that they’re going to kill you and Seteth, right.”

“Oh, they can try!” Flayn smiled sweetly. “But to be completely fair, we aren’t _ bloodthirsty _dragons. I am certain you’ll be allowed to leave with a knight if they ever found you.”

Felix didn’t bother replying. Instead, he continued to wrestle with his hair, angrily untangling his dark locks as he watched Flayn continue to scratch down words in her journal.

Despite being older—_ much _older—than him, Flayn was still, well.

Naive. Innocent. Oblivious to the fact that her _ dear _ father refused to let Felix leave, blathering on and on about penance for a _ stupid _thing his younger self did about a decade ago.

He shoved away those thoughts, burying them in the “Yell at the asshole dragon about this later” corner of his brain. There wasn’t any point berating Flayn about a decision she didn’t make, and couldn’t control.

* * *

He was thirteen when he made the worst decision of his entire life.

There had been rumours. Rumours of a large, bloodthirsty dragons rampaging through the mountains of Fraldarius, terrorising innocent creatures and remote villages in its path. Rumours of a green-eyed monster, that swiped and slashed with its massive claws, wrecking people’s homes into nothing but piles upon piles of rubble, brick and wood.

Rumours whispered by the palace guards, talking about plans that his father and elder brother were supposedly making, to form a small crew and gallop out on horseback, weapons in hands, to slay the beast themselves.

So obviously, thirteen-year-old Felix did the most _ logical _thing he could think of.

He stole his brother’s horse and one of the silver swords resting in the training grounds, packed a small bag of food rations he swiped from the pantry, bundled up in his clothes, and rode out at the crack of _ fucking _ dawn to idiotically try and kill a dragon that terrified people more than twice his age.

And he almost _ succeeded. _

Alone by himself, the journey on horseback took him no more than two days, travelling at a much faster pace than he would have if he had been travelling with a group of soldiers. Felix had arrived at the peak of the mountain, slowing to a stop as he faced the gaping mouth of a vast cave.

As soon as he dismounted, his brother’s horse had taken off, galloping back down the treacherous mountain path at breakneck speed, startled and _ terrified _by the thick smoke that wafted out of the cave, and the loud, rumbling sounds that occasionally echoed through the hollow walls. Stifling a sigh, Felix pressed on, gingerly making his way through the dark tunnels of the cave.

Surprisingly, the cave was well-lit, despite rumours of uncivilised, bloodthirsty beasts that lived there. Numerous torches lit the wall, illuminated in a strange, green flame that Felix had never seen before. At one point he had stopped walking, and instead, lingered by one of the torches, reaching out to try and touch it, and wincing in pain as it burnt the tip of one of his fingers.

Before long, the tunnel began to widen, opening up into a massive, circular room covered wall-to-wall with nothing but gold and treasure. Felix dove behind a nearby rock, mouth dropping as he peered over the stone, taking in the sight before him.

Every inch of the floor was covered in some form of treasure, ranging from golden coins to precious jewels and even ancient weapons and artifacts. He could even see some other items strewn in amongst the piles of shiny objects—weathered tomes and ancient scrolls, scraps of silky cloth, and even… a fishing rod?

And in the midst of it all, draped over one of the many piles of treasure, was a tiny green dragon, snoozing peacefully. It let out a rumbling sound as it snored, eyes tightly shut.

Felix stared. And then he scoffed.

All the rumours of a massive, bloodthirsty beast that terrified everybody in his kingdom, and it turned out to be nothing more than a tiny little dragon, snoozing away.

_ What a pain.  
_

And yet… who knew if the dragon would be a threat to everybody else? If they left it alone, would it grow and grow until one day, it burst out of the cavern, razing down fire and destruction on more than just the mountainside creatures and nearby villages?

It was too big a risk, he had decided, silently unsheathing the sword he had only started learning how to use.

And so, thirteen-year-old Felix had crept into the cavern, hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, before lunging at the monster, and driving his sword beneath its scaly pelt. The dragon had startled from its sleep as green blood dripped from its wound, letting out a horrific _ screech _as it thrashed about, tumbling down from the pile of gold until it landed at his feet.

He had raised his sword, about to slice his sword down in a sharp arc and slit its throat, when he felt a shadow fall upon him.

Felix froze.

And then slowly, hesitantly, he had turned around, craning his neck as far back as possible, until his gaze landed on the monstrous face of a massive dragon, staring down at him.

Smoke puffed from its nostrils as it stared at him, green, slitted eyes widening as it took in the sight of the younger dragon’s bleeding body.

_ Oh. Shit. _

The draconic beast let out a monstrous _ roar, _forcing Felix to drop his sword, covering his ears with the palm of his hands. And then it swept downwards, sharp claws lashing out, throwing Felix against a pile of sharp weapons and silver coins.

As Felix groaned, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his arm, he barely got a chance to recover before the towering dragon was approaching once more, smoke puffing as it opened its mouth.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, Felix recalled a lesson he had learnt once from his older brother, when he clamoured for Glenn to teach him something he hadn’t learned about before. Glenn had taken a much-younger Felix, placing him on his lap, as he showed him photos of an ancient dragon from the book he was studying, pointing at a carefully-drawn diagram of the creature’s mouth.

_ “See that?” _ Glenn had said, as Felix watched, enraptured by all the knowledge Glenn was feeding him, fascinating things he hadn’t known about before. _ “That’s the dragon’s mouth. It can spit fire at you and sear you to a crisp.” _

_ “Wow!” _ Younger Felix had cried, eyes shining at the thought of such a cool beast that could spit fire and fly and kill people. _ “That’s amazing!” _

Well it wasn’t so amazing now when he was staring right into the eyes of the beast, watching as a dim light began to glow in the depths of its gaping jaws.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Felix distantly, desperately, prayed for the first time in his life, that he wouldn’t die.

* * *

The beast became known to him as Seteth, and the younger dragon, as Flayn. For some reason, despite the fact that a thirteen-year-old Felix was hellbent on killing an innocent and napping Flayn, she had managed to drag herself to her feet in dragon form, crawling in front of Felix, and forcing her father to stop charging up a powered blast of fire that would have eviscerated Felix into ash and bones instantly.

Felix didn’t know why Flayn had done that back then, and even now, ten years later, he still didn’t have a clue as to why she would have asked her father to spare the boy who was literally trying to _ murder _her.

Felix was grateful to her. Kind of. Almost.

Really, it was Seteth that he had a problem with. Somehow, the older dragon had decided that the only fitting way to punish Felix, as opposed to razing down every single village and town and kingdom he knew and loved, was to drag the boy with them as they took off from the cavern, travelling far away to another land he couldn’t even recognise.

Seteth had ignored the way that the much-younger Felix had kicked and screamed, yelling curses that went unheard in the rushing wind as they flew through the skies. With Flayn resting on his back and Felix struggling in his grip, the dragon had soared away, far from Fraldarius territory, before landing a day later in some foreign part of Fodlan that Felix didn’t recognise, and dumping him unceremoniously into a dusty, crumbling tower.

_ Sure, _ his family and people and friends and _ everybody _ were spared from the fate of being seared to a crisp and eaten by a pair of dragons. But by the goddess, Felix _ hated _being stuck in a tower.

He had glared at Seteth back then, the first time he appeared before Felix in a humanoid form that resembled Felix’s kind. With his arms crossed, he gave the dark-haired teenager that had tried to murder his daughter a hard stare.

Felix gritted his teeth, ignoring the way his heart thumped wildly as the dragon’s sharp, green eyes glared at him. “...What?”

“You tried to murder Flayn.”

Felix didn’t reply. It wasn’t as if he could defend himself anyways, not in front of the creature who was apparently related to the young dragon he tried to murder in cold blood, who only spared him on _ behalf _ of said young dragon’s request.

It didn’t help that every time he tried to fix the green-haired man with a glare of his own, he was taken back to the cave, vividly envisioning his near-death experience over and over again.

As Felix kept silent, the dragon eventually continued. “If I had it my way, I would have killed you already,” he said plainly. “It was only because of Flayn’s insistence that I spared you. Had she not interfered, you would be nothing but a pile of ash, festering in the cave for nobody to find.”

Felix_ flinched. _

“Then again, I cannot let you go so easily. Not after what you did.” With a heavy sigh, Seteth slumped into a nearby chair, ignoring the way it creaked. “It would be immensely dangerous to both Flayn and I if we were to let you go back home, as if nothing happened. It would be easy for your kind to mount an attack against us, and track us down through all of Fodlan until we have both been slain.”

“So what?” Felix’s voice was bitter. He was lying on the dusty wooden floor, glaring up at Seteth, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his broken arm and the fact that he both felt and probably looked _ horrible. _ “You’re just—You’re just going to _ keep me here? Forever? _”

Seteth blinked. “Yes.”

All the irritation and anger and _ fight _he had vanished, leaving nothing but a hollow feeling behind. Distantly, Felix acknowledged that Seteth had continued to talk, yammering on about something with “a tower” and “penance” and “safety”, but he didn’t bother to listen.

Slumping against the floor, Felix let the reality of the situation hit him.

He would be alone. His family were safe, yes, but he would be alone. Stuck with nobody but two dragons for probably the rest of his life, trapped in a tiny little room with barely anything for company, all because he had fucked up _ once, _made a mistake, and ended up losing everything but his life for it.

Biting back tears, Felix got to his feet, ignoring Seteth’s surprised remark, and stormed into the only other room in that _ damned _tower, slamming the crumbling wooden door behind him.

* * *

It got more bearable over the years, though.

Especially when Seteth and Flayn had moved again, this time ending up in a truly remote corner of Fodlan, with a tower that wasn’t nestled with ancient cobwebs and furniture that fell apart the minute he used them.

Now, a decade after his stupid, _ foolish _mistake, Felix had, unfortunately, adjusted to life trapped in a tower, with nothing but two genuinely nice dragon-people for company.

Flayn was surprisingly kind to him, despite the fact that he had nearly murdered her in cold blood. It almost always made him feel guilty, that she would bounce up to him chattering cheerfully about her interests and questioning him about human culture, and brushing off his attempted murder of her as nothing more than an unfortunate incident of the past.

If he had to choose between the two, he would definitely choose Flayn. It wasn’t as if Seteth was _ bad, _but the older dragon often lectured him about his poor life’s decisions, years after he had committed them in the first place. It often led to a strained relationship between the two, with only Flayn there to bridge the walls they had both built up against each other.

Flayn couldn’t be there all the time, though. And that was why Felix was glaring at Seteth as the dragon walked into the room, narrowing his eyes as he fixed Felix with a smile.

“Hello, Felix,” Seteth greeted, stepping into the makeshift training hall that Felix was in. Briefly, his green eyes glanced over at the wooden training sword in Felix’s hand, too blunt to be of damage to anyone or anything. “I trust that you are feeling well?”

“As good as ever,” Felix bit out, turning back to face the straw dummy. Stepping back into position, he lunged forward, hacking at the dummy until his arms grew tired and he stepped back, breathing heavily.

He felt Seteth’s gaze lingering upon him, hearing the older man cough nervously. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk to you about something.” No casual conversations, no pleasantries, just cutting straight to the chase. Even if Felix held a grudge against Seteth, he could at least appreciate how the dragon didn’t try to make awkward small talk whenever he approached Felix to speak.

Felix turned, tilting his head at Seteth as he continued. “It’s been nearly ten years since the incident, as I’m sure you know—”

“No. I _ don’t. _” The incident. The goddess-forsaken incident, as everybody called it. The incident that ruined his life and destroyed any chance he had at a proper future, dumping him unceremoniously into a tower for a solid decade.

In a flash, Felix was pointing the wooden sword at Seteth, the blunted edge pressed against his throat. Even if he knew that it wouldn’t hurt him, even if he _ knew _ that the harmless, stupid weapon didn’t do jack _ shit _ against a powerful, draconic beast like the man standing across from him, Felix needed something— _ anything _—to make him feel like he had any semblence of control over the situation.

“Why,” he hissed, jabbing the wooden sword closer, “are you _ reminding _me about it.”

Seteth simply stared at him with a passive expression on his face, before gently pushing away the sword with one hand. “I was merely hoping to discuss about where you happen to be now, years after it occurred,” he explained, voice neutral, as if Felix wasn’t glaring daggers at him, expression livid. “I doubt that it would be reasonable for you to return to human society still, but if progress has been made, then perhaps we could make some plans for the future.”

Felix spluttered, letting out a shaky, hysterical laugh. Seteth gave him a bewildered look as he shook his head at the dragon. “And what?” he spat, watching as Seteth’s expression changed to something more horrified. “What progress, do you want to _ see? _”

“Felix—”

“You trapped me in here for _ years. _And for what?”

Seteth bristled, taking a step forward. “I only did it for Flayn and I’s safety,” he explained. Felix could hear it in his voice, hear the thinly-veiled attempts that Seteth was making to keep his anger at bay. “If _ you _ hadn’t tried to kill her, then this would have never happened to begin with. I do not understand how you can hold so much animosity towards me when my _ original _intentions were to kill you.”

Felix shook his head again, finally straightening up to stare at Seteth in the eyes. He could feel his anger, his _ fury _thrumming through his veins, burning a fire in his chest that grew with each rebuttal Seteth conjured up to defend himself. “No. That’s not it.”

“Excuse me?”

“The difference is, Flayn asked you to spare me. And you—”

He raised his arms, gesturing wildly to the room, the _ tower _ he was in. The makeshift training hall he and Seteth were facing off in was a tiny room, nearly empty save for a pile of wooden swords, blunted at the edge, and utterly useless against a draconic beast. The only thing of note were the two training dummies propped up next to each other, lifeless and beaten to death, worn out with straws poking from within the cloth. The only other thing of note in the room was a single window, much too tiny for Felix to climb out of, and too dangerous for him to use as an escape, being trapped in a _ tower. _

And he knew that the rest of the tower was the same. The main living room was fine and spacious, decked out with comfortable furniture, a pantry of food, and a study room that was mostly utilised by Seteth and Flayn. His bedroom, a floor above the rest of the tower, was a cluttered mess, everything strewn about haphazardly.

The same dozen or so books were lined up on the shelves, worn out and flipped through a thousand times. The same food stocked the pantry, something he had eaten years ago, and was still eating to this day. The same windows nestled the walls, all of them much too small to do anything but let in light, save for a single window in the living room where Flayn enjoyed perching on the window seat, glancing outside at the chirping birds and greenery in the distance below.

Felix choked—_ choked _ as he tried to speak, tried to spit out something that could drive his point in to Seteth. “You. Put me in this fucking tower. That wasn’t Flayn. That was all _ you. _”

He took a step, and then another. Slowly, Felix began to circle around Seteth, gripping the useless wooden sword in his hand. It grounded him, made him feel safer, like he wasn’t walking right into the dragon’s lair with where this conversation was headed, watching as Seteth’s green eyes began to narrow into slits, scales starting to creep across his hands.

“I know Flayn has asked you to let me leave in the past.” He watched as Seteth’s shoulders tensed, watched the way his gaze followed Felix as he circled around him. “You refused.”

“I am _ only _doing what’s right for both Flayn and I,” Seteth hissed, voice distorting. Felix stopped, standing across from him, staring impassively at the other man’s face. “She is still much too young to know of the horrors of humanity chasing after us. Of their prejudices against—”

“Flayn isn’t a _ child _ ,” Felix interjected, ignoring the way his heartbeat grew faster and faster as Seteth’s scaly hands grew into sharp claws. “Do you even talk to her? Do you even _ listen _to her?”

“Even so, you cannot fault me for doing this, when her mother was_ killed _ by those humans in the _ first place _!”

Seteth’s thunderous voice boomed through the room, causing the floor to shake. Felix stumbled backwards, loosening his grip on his sword, and hearing it clatter to the rumbling floor. Distantly, he could hear the way the other training weapons rattled against the ground, the dummies behind him falling over with a soft _ thump _.

Felix stared at Seteth, frozen in place.

Silence filled the room, filling the gaps that Seteth’s outburst left behind. Seteth took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing as his draconic characteristics slowly began to creep away, slit eyes fading and clawed hands disappearing before he faced Felix once more.

“Felix.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fists, trying to ignore the way his legs and arms _ shook _.

“I know how much you wish to leave. Flayn had tried many times to get me to reconsider my decision. It may be cruel to keep you trapped here for what could be your lifetime, but I cannot do much else apart from apologising for my decision.”

He opened his eyes, staring up at Seteth, blinking away the wetness that threatened to well up in his eyes. “...Why?”

Truthfully, Felix knew. He always knew. This conversation, this argument, this _ fight _that he and Seteth had, was nothing new to him. Everything always came to a head sooner or later. Felix’s resentment always grew and grew, threatening to overflow the metaphorical bottle of emotions that he bottled up all his feelings in. And Seteth always tried to reach out to him, to make empty promises of progress and possibilities that never went anywhere, in hopes of placating Felix’s anger and indignation.

And yet, each time, in the heat of the moment, after every outburst, Felix always asked him _ why _.

Seteth’s eyes softened. “You know this well by now. Flayn’s safety is of my utmost priority. If you leave, you will threaten that very safety. Humanity is, at its core, selfish and bloodthirsty, craving for revenge. Even if you do not wish for our deaths, will your people feel the same way?”

Felix didn’t reply.

“I am truly sorry Felix,” Seteth said, for what must have been the umpteenth time. “You may resent me forever for it, but I cannot trust you enough to let you leave.”

* * *

Though Seteth and Flayn often spent most of their time at the tower, watching over Felix, there were times when the duo left.

The pantry could only stock so much food, and Felix could only cycle through so many garments before the pantry was empty and he was out of clean clothes to wear. Twice a month, Seteth and Flayn would leave, and Felix would watch them disappear into the woods from the window seat in front of the largest window of the tower.

In the past, Seteth used to go by himself, leaving Flayn alone with Felix. He honestly didn’t mind her presence, not when she had slowly become his only friend over the past decade of his life. Flayn was sweet and kind, and the time she spent with him was not a waste.

However, as the years passed by, Flayn had begun to accompany Seteth to the market, the duo disguising their green hair and sharp ears with some form of draconic magic. And so, that left Felix alone in the tower, left to his own thoughts, staring around the room with nothing on his mind. There was only so much time he could spend training, hacking at a lifeless dummy with a blunt weapon, before he grew tired and _ bored _ .

(There was another reason why he avoided the makeshift training hall, a reason that Felix refused to admit to himself. It had to do with slit eyes and sharp scales, and a thunderous voice etched in his memories, forcing him to exit the room whenever he entered to try and prop up the fallen dummies during the week.)

As a result, Felix was wandering around the tower, aimlessly exploring for what felt like the millionth time while Seteth and Flayn were gone.

The study, which was primarily occupied by Seteth, was a small room furnished with wooden cupboards, mostly-empty bookshelves, and a desk cluttered with rolled-up parchment, fresh sheets of paper, ink quills, and Flayn’s journal.

Brushing a finger against the bookshelf, Felix glanced at the spines of the few books nestled there. They were mostly boring books that Seteth got for himself, alongside a couple of carefully-bound handmade books of fables.

He pulled one of Seteth’s books—“_ The History of Fodlan _ ”, it read, the title printed in golden cursive on the leather cover—out of the shelf, giving it a once-over. The book was in mint condition, lacking the worn weathered covers that most of the other books in the towers had. Seteth must had bought the book recently. And usually, Felix didn’t bother reading anything Seteth brought back, but…

_ Ugh. _As if he had anything better to do now.

Book in hand, Felix walked back into the living room, settling down on the cushioned window seat, and turning the book to its first page.

_ ‘Under the tyranny of ruthless disorder, the people endured a long period of suffering. The vile Nemesis, King of Liberation, delighted in war and bloodshed, driving the people of Fodlan into a series of endless wars, causing kingdom after kingdom to fall…’ _

Time ticked by without him even realising it. Slowly, the morning sun crept into an afternoon blaze, the room growing brighter as sunlight filtered through the window. Felix kept flipping through the pages, eyes following the words on the page, as he slowly dug through the recorded history of Fodlan.

He was just reaching a chapter that covered the history of Faerghus, a newly established country separate from Adrestia, when he heard something.

Felix paused, hand hovering over the book.

There was a noise—a faint rustling noise that he could barely make out. Had the tower not been dead silence with nothing of noise save for Felix and the rustling noise the book made whenever he flipped a page, Felix was certain he wouldn’t have heard it.

Slowly, his eyes darted around the room, moving from the open door of the study, to the staircase leading up to his bedroom and down to the training hall, to the pantry, and finally, to the bathroom door, shut tightly.

_ Nothing. _

Felix bit back a strained laugh. By the _ goddess. _ He must have been starting to hallucinate from being left alone for far too long, with nothing and nobody for company.

Pushing the mysterious rustling sound out of his mind, he turned back to his book, flipping to the next page.

_ ‘Loog, a descendant of one of the kingdoms that first quarreled with the capital of Enbarr, raised an army to demand independence, pulling the lands of Faerghus and Adrestia into a fierce war. This clash came to be known as the—’ _

“Hey there, beautiful!” An unfamiliar voice shouted. “What’s a gorgeous gal like you doing in a tower like this?”

The sudden shout caused Felix to _ jolt _, letting out a screech as he tumbled off the window seat, crashing into the wooden floor.

_ CRASH! _

Groaning, Felix shoot his head to shake off his dizziness, blearily glancing up from the ground. Glancing around the room, his eyes locked onto one of the cabinets, and he winced.

Somehow, in his fit of shock, he had accidentally flung Seteth’s book across the room, which collided with a cabinet. Felix pulled a face at the sight of the glass panel covering the cabinet. The glass, used to display Flayn’s collection of human trinkets and toys on the shelves within, had shattered into smithereens. Shards of glass had scattered all over the floor. Some of the jagged pieces had even landed on the book, which was lying face-down on the ground.

Felix let out an irritated sigh. _ Seteth is going to be pissed. _

He winced as he pushed himself up from the floor, dusting himself off. Faintly, he could hear the stranger’s voice being carried through the window of the tower, though their words were now much more inaudible and hard to hear.

Frustration coursed through him as he thought over the stranger’s words. _ Beautiful? A gorgeous gal? _ Felix scoffed. _ Of course they’d say that _, he thought bitterly, running his hands through his hair.

Felix’s hair was _ long. _Much longer than he liked, courtesy of Seteth’s refusal to leave any fragile object or sharp weapon around the tower. Granted, Seteth’s reasoning was something along the lines of not wanting Flayn or himself to get stabbed in their sleep. Which, considering how paranoid he was, seemed to be par for the course.

But the ban on sharp and lethal objects of any kind had, to an extent, grown utterly _ ridiculous _ . Seteth’s refusal to let Felix within a ten-mile radius of anything that could be used as a stabby weapon had resulted into _ another _ refusal to allow Felix to cut his hair.

It left him with long, dark hair that stretched past his shoulders, past his waist, and past his _ feet _ . The end of his hair constantly grazed against the floor whenever he walked, proving to be a nuisance unless Flayn was around to braid it for him. Hell, he had even _ tripped _over his hair on occasion, accidentally stepping on the ends and tumbling onto the ground.

So really, Felix shouldn’t have been surprised that the mysterious stranger, whoever they were, had mistaken him for _ a gorgeous gal, _as they had put it. And yet, anger flared up in him anyways.

He _ hated _the idea of being a maiden locked in the tower, as Flayn’s descriptions of the townspeople's rumours had depicted him. A helpless damsel in distress, who fluttered her eyes at the people who rescued her, unable to take charge of her situation and leave for himself.

(It was the same reason why he kept pointing the blunted edge of a wooden sword at Seteth whenever they fought, despite knowing that it was ultimately useless against the draconic man. He _ hated _feeling helpless and lost, unable to take control of his situation. He hated it so much because it was the truth of his reality.)

The stranger was still trying to shout at him, his words growing louder and louder. Ignoring the way that his heart thrummed faster and his palms grew uncomfortably sweaty, Felix turned back to the window. He knelt at the window seat, poking his head out of the tower.

Whatever sharp insult he had prepared for the fool of a stranger died on his tongue.

Because standing at the foot of the tower, though far away and hard to hear, was one Sylvain Jose Gautier, his childhood friend, staring up at him, a lance strapped against his back. His hair—his distinctively recognisable, stupidly _ bright _, orange hair—stuck out like a sore thumb in the field of green grass and trees surrounding the clearing below.

And judging by the way Sylvain’s face twisted from what seemed like a confident smile into pure _ surprise, _Felix was willing to bet that Sylvain hadn’t expected to see him either.

Felix stared. His grip on the windowsill tightened.

His heartbeat raced faster as he drank in the sight of another person. And on top of that, it was his childhood best friend, a face that he hadn’t seen in _ years. _

Furiously, Felix blinked away the tears that threatened his wet eyes.

Sylvain’s mouth was wide open, the orange-haired man gaping stupidly at him like Seteth did whenever he walked in on Flayn forcing Felix to help her ransack and rearrange everything in the study. Before long, Sylvain shook his head, giving him an awed look. “Felix?”

Felix rolled his eyes, leaning against the windowsill. “The one and only.”

Sylvain paused.

“What?”

“I… I said, the one and only!” Felix repeated, raising his voice. And still, Sylvain gave him a confused stare, cocking his head to one side.

Realisation hit Felix like a brick, causing him to curse a certain green-bearded dragon below his breath. _ Goddess help me. _

The tower that Seteth stuck him in was stupidly tall, taller than he was in his massive, dragon form. It was a goddess-damned miracle that Felix could even _ hear _Sylvain in the first place, from high above.

Judging by the way Sylvain stared at him like a lost puppy, it was clear that the same didn’t apply to his old childhood friend.

Felix’s eyes flitted to the sky, swearing under his breath. The sun was slowly beginning to set, bit by bit. Sooner or later, Seteth and Flayn would return, and… well.

The last thing Felix wanted to see was Seteth burning Sylvain to a crisp.

Shouting at him was pointless. The chances of Sylvain hearing him were slim to none, if Felix’s assumptions were correct. Being stuck in a relatively empty tower in a quiet glade had done nothing to worsen his hearing over the years, and he couldn’t say the same for Sylvain, if the lance strapped across his back was anything to go by.

But there could still be a way for him to talk to Sylvain.

Felix left the window, ignoring the startled shout from Sylvain below. Stumbling into the study, he pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped one of the numerous quills laying around the room in ink. Placing the nib to the paper, he began to write.

_ ‘It’s too risky to stay,’ _ he wrote, quill scratching against the paper. He didn’t have any plan for the letter. The only thing that guided his words was the looming feeling of dread he felt at the prospect of Seteth finding Sylvain at the foot of the tower. ‘ _ Leave. _ _ Now. _ _ ’ _

And then Felix paused, quill raised. He stared at the paper, hesitating.

It had been a decade of being stuck in a tower, a decade of nobody but Seteth and Flayn for contact, and Felix was tired. Tired of the tower, tired of being trapped, and desperate for contact. Did he really want to chase Sylvain away, and continue the awful cycle of being trapped and mostly alone?

_ Fuck no. _

He scribbled out the last part of his note, scratching something else in place. When he was done, Felix gave the letter a once-over.

_ ‘It’s too risky to stay. Come back here in two weeks time. When you see two people leaving for the town, sneak in here, and call for me.’ _

Rolling up the paper, Felix walked back to the window, glancing outside to see Sylvain, still standing dumbly at the foot of the tower. His face brightened up upon Felix’s return, causing a warm feeling to bloom in Felix’s chest.

Rather than dwell on the new feeling and what it could mean, Felix opted instead to chuck the rolled-up parchment down, watching it collide in a small patch of grass to the left of Sylvain.

Felix lounged against the windowsill, feet kicked up on the cushioned window seat as his eyes follow Sylvain, who walked over to pick up the parchment. Unfurling the paper, he watched as Sylvain gave it a glance through, before turning back to the tower, giving him a questioning look.

_ Ah. Right. _Felix forgot that Sylvain was stupidly persistent.

Another round trip to the study later, Felix was back at the window, gazing impassively at Sylvain as the orange-haired man unrolled the second letter he hurled to the ground, his expression quickly morphing into one of horror.

_‘If you stay at the fucking tower,’ _Felix had wrote, ‘_you are going to be burnt to a crisp by a massive dragon, and you __will__ die. And no, that lance of yours will not do __shit_ _against a hulking beast more than half the size of this stupid tower.’_

_ Also, I’d rather not see you die, _Felix’s brain supplied, as he watched Sylvain give him a nod. The expression on his friend’s face was so serious it almost made him laugh, the sight of it a direct contrast to the flirty, carefree Sylvain of his childhood memories.

As he watched Sylvain stick both parchments into his satchel, Felix couldn’t help wondering. _ How much has changed since then? _

_ Too much, probably, _he answered for himself, taking in the sight of Sylvain backing away, waving at him before darting into the trees, disappearing from sight.

The hollow feeling that filled his chest when silence crept back in was suffocating. With a heavy sigh, Felix slid off the window seat, giving the shattered cabinet a wary glance before gazing at the staircase.

Maybe he’d hide out in his bedroom before the two dragons returned. At the least, Seteth would be less pissed about the broken cabinet if he found Felix in another room, with no sign of a sharp weapon on him.

* * *

“Now remember Felix, I would appreciate it greatly if you refrained from breaking any more furniture in our absence.”

Felix could feel his face flush, ducking his head as Flayn giggled. Seteth had been staring at him with a disapproving gaze, his eyes stern.

The dragon duo stood by the door on the lower floor of the tower, to a corner of the makeshift training hall. It would have been nothing more than a normal wooden door, made of cherry wood with iron handles, if it weren’t for the ominous green glow surrounding it. Usually Felix would pull a curtain across it whenever he came down the stairs to practice training, the constant aura being a pain on his eyes.

Now though, the curtain was pulled to one side, as Seteth and Flayn stood in front of it, dressed in heavy, hooded cloaks. It had been a little over two weeks since their last trip, and once again, the pantry was running low on food supplies.

Felix stared at his feet, ignoring Seteth’s pointed stare. “I told you, it was an accident.”

“Even so, it was quite alarming to return to the sight of dangerous glass shards scattered everywhere,” Seteth said, causing Felix to wince at the memory.

He had been staking out in his bedroom, lounging across his bed and flipping through one of Flayn’s favourite novels for the umpteenth time, when he heard a loud roar and a shout from downstairs.

He barely had any time to react before loud footsteps stomped up the stairs, and the door opened with a crash. Seteth stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, as he held up a thick glass shard in one hand.

“What in the goddess’ name is this?” he snapped. It was rare for Seteth to ever lose his temper on his own, his very few instances of rage usually being triggered by Felix’s arguments with him.

Felix swallowed. “I accidentally broke the cupboard.”

Seteth gave him a disbelieving stare. “_ Accidentally? _”

“Didn’t you see that book lying on the floor? I got startled by something and accidentally threw it into the cupboard.”

He felt Seteth’s burning gaze for a moment before the dragon turned tail and walked back downstairs. He had left the bedroom door open in his departure, allowing Felix to overhear the faint sound of Flayn and her father conversing downstairs.

Although he tried to focus on the novel in his hands, he couldn’t ignore the way his heart thumped nervously, despite his best efforts to shove the worst case scenarios out of his mind.

Seteth soon returned, accompanied by Flayn. In her hands was _ “The History of Fodlan”, _leather cover covered with cuts and holes from what he assumed were the glass shards.

Thankfully, Seteth didn’t seem to remain angry for long, sighing as Felix tossed the novel to the side of the bed. “I have no reason to disbelieve you, but I do wonder…”

“What?”

“What could have caused you to accidentally break the cupboard?”

His throat dried. _ Ah. _

Seteth and Flayn were staring at him expectantly. Felix bit back a curse.

“I got startled by something,” he eventually said, hoping that neither of the dragons noticed the faint shake of his voice.

Seteth’s eyes narrowed. “Startled by what?”

“Um.” Felix froze. “I—uh. A rat.”

Flayn gasped, face stricken. “Oh, goddess no! Do we happen to have rats in the pantry once again?”

Felix blinked. “Yes.”

“Well, I didn’t notice any rats earlier while we were restocking the pantry,” Seteth remarked. Felix’s heart sank.

Before he could attempt to throw out another weak lie in hopes of shielding the truth, Flayn spoke up, turning to face Seteth. “But it could be possible that Felix simply eradicated all of the rats himself. After all, this _ has _happened before. Do you not remember the time he threw three dead rats out of the window, Father? It was merely a few months ago too!”

He honestly did not deserve Flayn, in all her sweet, naive glory. Felix nodded quickly. “Yeah. I did that. I threw the rats outside.”

“I did not notice any rats downstairs, however, while we were returning.”

“A bird came and took it. Two birds.”

He heard a gasp from Flayn. “Two birds? Oh, you _ must _tell me more, Felix! Were they the birds we had seen in the past? Like the sparrow or the hawk? Or were they something new altogether?”

“I—”

“Come, Felix!” Flayn wrapped her hand around his wrist, ignoring his yelp of surprise as she pulled him out of the room. “You simply _ must _ tell me _ everything _! I have to record it down as soon as possible!”

He only managed to evade suspicion from Seteth thanks to Flayn. Felix wouldn’t deny feeling _ slightly _bad over having to weave together a story about a strange, green bird that he hadn’t actually seen, feasting on ten rat carcasses, but if it helped to shield his secret visitor from suspicious eyes, then so be it.

Now though, he gave Seteth a hard stare, refusing to say anything else as the green-haired man turned to face the door, Flayn in tow. With a wave of a glowing hand, Felix listened as the lock _ clicked _and the door opened, revealing a staircase down below.

As Flayn had explained to him once, they often took the stairs because it was a pain to squeeze through the largest window in the tower during mid-transformation. It was much easier to just remain in human form and walk down a long, winding path of stairs.

“I shall see you later, Felix!” Flayn said, giving him a wave as she turned to follow Seteth through the doorway, the wooden door slamming shut as soon as she stepped through.

Felix stood there, watching as the door began to glow with an ominous green glow once more. Stifling a sigh, he pulled the curtain across, blocking as much of the door as he could, before turning to walk up to the living room and wait.

* * *

He waited at the window seat, trying his best to flip through “_ The History of Fodlan _ ” to pass the time. But he couldn’t concentrate on the words, too jittery and restless to struggle through a chapter on how the newly-established country of Faerghus had to forge trade deals with Adrestia.

Felix’s mind kept drifting back to that day, thinking of Sylvain, tucking both parchments into his satchel before disappearing into the woods. Would he return? Or would he stay away?

Felix wanted to believe that Sylvain would come back, but it had been ten years. Who was he to assume that Sylvain would return? Especially at the threat of being burned to death by a massive dragon.

So when the sun rose steadily into midday, Felix was startled out of his racing thoughts by a sudden _ thunk _against the tower outside.

_ What the fuck? _

Poking his head out of the window, he glanced down at a familiar face. Sylvain waved at him, a cheerful grin on his face, before pointing to the side of the tower.

Felix turned, catching sight of an arrow embedded in the stone walls of the tower, a piece of rolled-up parchment tied to it.

_ ...What. The fuck. _

Since _ when _ did Sylvain learn how to shoot a fucking bow and arrow? As far as Felix could recall, Sylvain was horrible with a bow when they were younger, his twelve-year-old self watching as his older and _ cooler _ childhood friend fumbled to shoot an arrow into a training dummy.

He still remembered watching as Sylvain threw the training bow to one side with an irritated groan, walking over to the weapons rack to grab a lance. As Sylvain twirled the weapon in his hands, Felix had walked over to the bow, turning it over in his hands, before shrugging and deciding to give it a try.

Felix still remembered the look of pure shock plastered on Sylvain’s face when he hit the target on his first try.

Then again, it _ had _been a decade, Felix reminded himself as he leaned out of the tower, pulling the shaft out of the stone wall. Removing the bound letter, he tossed the arrow out of the tower without a second glance.

Unfurling the piece of parchment, Felix squinted at the page, taking in the sight of wrinkled paper and smudged ink. _ Was Sylvain’s handwriting always this shit? _

He couldn’t remember. It was one of those seemingly trivial things he couldn’t remember, too small to make an impact in the small collection of memories he still had from his life prior to the tower.

...Right. The letter. Sylvain’s handwriting could wait. Smoothing out the paper, Felix began to read through it.

_ ‘Goddess, Felix. We thought you were dead.  
_

_ I guess that’s a pretty bad way to start off this letter, huh? Sorry about that. Not like I could think of any other way though. It’s been ten years. The chances of you being alive all this time were slim to none. _

_ Really though, I didn’t expect to find you here. I heard the rumours about a maiden with dark hair… but I kinda figured it was unlikely to be you. I mean… a damsel in distress? A fair maiden? Then again, I did mistake you for a girl the first time. _

_ You know, I’ve got a lot of questions to ask. You mentioned two people in that first note you wrote. Who are they? I saw them leaving a while ago. I’ve been coming to these woods for the past few days and waiting for some people to leave. They’re the only people I’ve seen walking through this place. Are they keeping you captive here? _

_ What did you mean by me being burnt to a crisp? Are those rumours of dragons true too? I—’ _

The rest of the paragraph was a scribbled mess, ink blotting out the words.

_ ‘Sorry. Ignore that.  
_

_ Anyways, I’ll find a way to get you out of there somehow, I swear. Even if it takes me ages, I’ll figure something out. Just you wait, Felix. I’ll come back as many times as I can.’ _

Felix stared at that line, reading it over and over again. A swell of emotions rose from within, a mixture of relief and happiness and frustration and guilt.

He pushed his scrambled thoughts out of his mind, deciding not to dwell on his reluctant feelings towards being rescued, like some helpless victim. There was one more line at the bottom of the letter, scribbled hastily, as though it were an afterthought.

_ ‘Oh yeah, almost forgot. Can you let down your hair? I heard the rumours. They were right on the dragon part, so I thought that maybe the hair thing would be true too? We could talk in the tower.’ _

_ Nah, that part’s bullshit, _ Felix thought, stifling a laugh. One of the stupidest rumours that came out of the “Damsel in a Tower” story was that the maiden locked up had long enough hair to reach the foot of the tower, allowing gallant knights to clamber up her hair where they would embrace upstairs.

Felix placed the note down gently on the window seat, before getting on his knees, and poking his head out of the tower. Sylvain was staring up at him expectantly, and Felix couldn’t hide the grin that crossed his face.

If Sylvain was expecting him to have long enough hair, then perhaps it’d be better if he showed him why that wasn’t possible.

Reaching back, Felix pulled his hair off the floor, gripping the dark locks tightly in both hands. Leaning out of the window, he threw his hair out, clenching the windowsill tightly to avoid falling out as the weight of his hair threatened to pull him out of the tower and send him tumbling to the ground below.

The look on Sylvain’s face was _ priceless.  
_

Felix’s hair wasn’t even long enough to cover a quarter of the tower’s height. Sylvain gave him a distressed stare. Whatever hope he had for Felix to magically have hair long enough and _ thick _enough to withstand the weight of a grown man climbing up a tall tower had vanished in an instance.

Felix pulled his hair back into the tower, sliding off the window seat to grab a fresh quill, dipping it in a bottle of ink. He had a reply to write.

He couldn’t afford to steal one of the parchments in the tower, lest Seteth began to notice the sudden occurrence of missing paper in his study. It would be different if it were Flayn drawing something or Felix scribbling down a story for Flayn, because the used sheet of parchment would still be in the tower, rolled up and stashed in a corner somewhere.

But because Felix was throwing pieces of parchment _ outside _the tower, he couldn’t risk doing it on a regular basis. Thankfully, Seteth hadn’t commented on the missing paper he used previously. But if Sylvain was going to visit on a regular basis, then…

He flipped Sylvain’s letter, thankful that the other side was blank. Shoving “_ The History of Fodlan” _ below the paper as a flat surface to write on, Felix settled back into the window seat, and began to write.

_ ‘I didn’t expect you to find me at all. I don’t even know where I am. I got moved here several years ago, but it’s not like I can leave freely, so I don’t know shit about this place. _

_ The two people? Seteth and Flayn. They’re not horrible people or anything. Well, Flayn isn’t. She’s okay. She’s probably the only friend I’ve had for the past ten years. She’s the reason why I didn’t get burned to death years ago. _

_ Seteth is—’ _

_ Oh, Seteth, _Felix thought bitterly.

There was a small part of Felix, the same part that rose every so often to scream and fight with Seteth over and over. It wanted to spit on his name, and drive him into the mud. It wanted him to scribble down blatant lies about how horrible and malicious and _ evil _Seteth was, the villain to the damsel in distress rumour that people spoke about, the antagonist to his life.

And yet, it didn’t feel right.

_ ‘I don’t hate him, as much as I want to,’ _ Felix eventually wrote, quill scritching against the paper. _ ‘Hate’s a strong word. I dislike him. He’s the reason why I’m stuck here in the first place. He refuses to let me leave the tower. You could say he’s the one keeping me captive here. _

_ They’re the dragons, by the way. Seteth will absolutely kill you if he finds you. I’d rather not watch you get burnt to fucking ashes. _

_ I don’t want to be rescued—’ _

No. That was a lie. Felix _ wanted _ to escape, and if Sylvain helped him to do that, then there was no point writing that down.

_ ‘Thanks for—’ _

No. That didn’t feel right either. Thanking Sylvain didn’t feel right. It left him with an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling of helplessness that he absolutely _loathed._

In the end, Felix simply scribbled over that segment, choosing not to reply to Sylvain’s promise to whisk him away from the tower.

As he rolled up the paper, chucking it out of the window, Felix’s mind kept going over the last part of the note.

He wasn’t going to be an absolute idiot and deny the fact that he actually wanted Sylvain to visit him. It had been years, after all. A large part of him wanted Sylvain to clamber through the window during his visits, to embrace him and talk to him, and forget about his circumstances, just for one moment of his miserable life.

But what he wrote was true. He had no rope, no ladder, nothing that Sylvain could use to climb up.

In other words, their only method of communication was through stupid handwritten letters, tossed back and forth between the ground below and the tower above.

Felix watched Sylvain unfurl the letter, his face twisting into various looks of horror the further he read Felix’s nonchalant answers to his question.

With a sigh, Felix slouched against the windowsill, burying his head in his arms.

He wanted to leave. He really did. But even with Sylvain’s promises to visit and find a way to rescue him, Felix didn’t find much hope burning within him.

* * *

They traded letters back and forth. Sylvain settled onto a patch of grass, pulling fresh sheets of parchment out of his satchel, an iron bow lying on the ground next to him as he scribbled more questions down in his splotchy handwriting.

He would then pull an arrow out of the quiver slung across his back, pushing himself up from the ground and walking closer to the tower. With the midday sun beaming down on him, Felix thought his hair looked like burning fire, watching as Sylvain tied the rolled-up letter to an arrow, and nocked it.

His archery skills had improved since they were younger. Felix noted, leaning out of the tower time and time again to pull out the arrow embedded next to the window. _ And that’s a good thing too. If he shot the arrow someplace I couldn’t reach, we’d have a big fucking problem. _

Before long, the midday sun had begun to dip slowly over the horizon, and a familiar feeling of dread settled into Felix’s stomach. He rolled up the last letter of the day, flinging it down at Sylvain, before making a shooing gesture with his hands.

Sylvain glanced at him, then up at the sky, and then realisation hit him. Felix flashed him two fingers from the top of the tower—two weeks, he meant to imply, hoping that Sylvain have enough of a functioning brain to understand the gesture—and watched with a heavy heart as Sylvain waved at him, stepping away.

He closed his eyes after Sylvain disappeared into the forest, ignoring the way his heart clenched and his body ached at the realisation that he was alone, once again.

When Seteth and Flayn returned later, they caught sight of Felix, passed out on the window seat, hair tumbling to the floor in a pile of dark curls. Thankfully, the duo failed to notice the quill in Felix’s hands, shielded from behind the curtain that was his hair.

* * *

“There’s a new rumour in town, about you,” Flayn said, as her hands combed through Felix’s hair.

He glanced up at that. Craning his head around, he tried to look at Flayn, who was seated behind him, carefully unfurling the braids she had woven into his hair. Flayn shook her head at him, smile twisting into a pout. “Turn back around, Felix! I cannot help to unbraid your hair if you insist on looking back at me!”

“What rumour?” he demanded, though he turned his head back around.

As Flayn’s deft finger steadily unwove the tight braids in his hair, she continued. “Oh, it’s certainly a strange rumour, most of the townspeople agreed. But word has been going around that the tower can be found on the mountainside of an active volcano!”

Through the window, Felix could see the green grass of the glade surrounding the tower, as well as the edge of the woods. He rolled his eyes. “That’s stupid. Who the fuck would believe that?”

“More people than you would expect, Felix!” As more and more braids came undone, his long hair tumbling down to the floor, Flayn laughed. “While we were visiting the market, I overheard some knights discussing a plan to travel to the nearest volcano, in hopes of finding you. However, I do find it strange how humans are more inclined to believe that you’re trapped in such a hot, stuffy place, as opposed to the woods.”

Felix stared out the window, watching a bird land on the windowsill. “They probably expect to find dragons living around volcanoes, not in the woods.”

“Excellent point, Felix,” Flayn said, as the last braid tumbled loose. As she slid off the window seat, proudly marvelling over the pile of hair tumbling past Felix’s shoulders, she gave him a nod. “Logically, it would make more sense to find us around hot places. But it seems rather assumptious, don’t you think?”

He shrugged.

“That being said, there seemed to be a second rumour circulating around the town,” Flayn continued, circling around to sit in front of him, perched on the other side of the cushioned window seat. “That second rumour didn’t seem as popular, however. Perhaps many humans found it to be boring.”

“Spit it out.”

“Several of the tenants at the inn were conversing about the maiden… well, not being a maiden at all.”

Felix stopped, turning to give Flayn a bewildered look. “That’s—”

“The truth?” Flayn nodded, curls bouncing. “Very rarely do humans get these rumours correct. Though I wonder… what could have caused such a shift in mindset? After all, from word of mouth alone, you seem every inch a damsel in distress, as much as you hate being considered as one.”

Felix didn’t reply, mouth clamped shut. He heard Flayn sigh, getting up and shuffling away into the bathroom, followed by the faint sound of water filling the wooden bathtub.

Flayn reappeared soon after, tilting her head towards the bathroom. “Will you be coming, Felix? It’s been a while since you washed your hair.”

That was true. Pushing his nagging suspicions out of his mind, Felix gave Flayn a firm nod, following after the girl.

* * *

The next time Felix was alone, he watched as Sylvain emerged from the woods, raising an eyebrow at the stuff he was carrying.

His bow and quiver were still slung across his back, and his satchel was still slung across his body. But Sylvain was also carrying something in his hands, something Felix couldn’t quite make out from a distance, unable to see anything apart from a blobby beige mess.

It was only when Sylvain pulled out an arrow and dropped the unidentified object that it began to click.

Sylvain had brought _ rope. _

Felix watched as Sylvain knelt against the grass, hands working to tie a tight knot around the shaft of an arrow. As soon as he seemed certain that it wouldn’t slide off or unravel, Sylvain nocked the bow, pulling back the string of his bow, and then releasing it.

The arrow smacked into the wall next to the window, just as it did weeks before. Felix poked his head out of the window, staring at the rope dangling from the arrow, long enough to reach the ground below. It swayed aimlessly in the breeze, taunting him to reach out and grab it.

His arm shot out, yanking the arrow out of the wall, and pulling it into the tower. Cursing Sylvain under his breath for making the knot so damn _ tight _, Felix unfurled the rope, and threw the arrow out the window without a second glance.

He could feel his heartbeat thumping wildly in his chest, sweat beading across his forehead as his hands shook. As he stood on top of the window seat, he looped the rope around the metal pole above the open window, used at night to drape curtains across the opening in the wall.

Felix’s hands shook as he worked, palms sweaty as he looped the rope into a dead knot.

Giving the rope an experimental tug, all he could do was silently pray to whatever goddess was out there that it would hold. If Seteth returned to the sight of a broken curtain pole, he would have a lot of explaining to do, and he couldn’t think of any excuses that would make logical sense.

Felix dropped to his knees, peering out the window. Sylvain waved at him, before giving him a thumbs up.

Sylvain slung his bow across his back once more, rubbing his hands together, before reaching out to grip the rope.

And then he began to climb.

Throughout the entire journey, Felix couldn’t help glancing back up at the metal pole, heart thrumming nervously as it strained under the weight of Sylvain climbing the rope. _ Don’t break, don’t break, _ please _ don’t break. _

The rope began to strain, fraying at the end. Without a second thought, Felix rose up, wrapping his hands around the rope, and squeezing it tightly. _ If it snapped… _

The last thing he wanted to watch was Sylvain plummeting down the tower, crashing into the ground with a sickening _ crack. _ He flinched at the thought, mind racing through the scenario, envisioning an orange-haired body crumpled against the ground, the grass surrounding it stained with blood.

So he held the rope in place, feeling it bounce up and down as Sylvain continued to climb.

Seconds ticked by, turning into a minute, and then two. Felix stared at the windowsill, hands shaking around the rope.

His breathing hitched as a hand rose into view, grabbing hold of the windowsill. One hand turned into two, and before he knew it, he was staring at Sylvain’s sweaty face, watching wordlessly as he pulled himself into the tower, tumbling onto the window seat with a soft _ oof _.

He let go of the rope, eyes fixated on the other man. Felix watched as Sylvain pushed himself up from the seat, brushing a couple of stray curls out of his eyes.

Felix stared at him, heartbeat going absolutely _ nuts, _chest tightening as his breathing grew faster and faster. Dropping back onto the seat, he gripped the edge of the chair tightly, until his knuckles turned white, and his fingers began to ache.

Sylvain stared back, hazel eyes wide, mouth agape. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out. Felix flinched as an unfamiliar warmth brushed against his cheek, jerking away from Sylvain’s touch. Regret flooded through him as soon as he saw the hurt that flashed in Sylvain’s eyes, the other man rescinding his hand, rubbing his palms against his pants.

He didn’t hate it. He didn’t hate the gentle feeling of a warm hand against his skin, Sylvain’s thumb brushing against his cheeks. No, Felix had jerked away because of how _ alien _ it felt, a sensation he hadn’t felt in _ years. _

He wanted to feel it again.

Before Sylvain could open his mouth to speak, Felix dove forward, burying his head in Sylvain’s chest. His arms wrapped around the other man’s body, fingers curling tightly in the soft cotton of his blue shirt.

Sylvain was _ warm. _ Felix shut his eyes tightly, barely paying attention to Sylvain speaking as he squeezed tighter. He didn’t realise just how much he _ missed _ this, how touch-starved he was for warmth and contact, until Sylvain had tumbled through the tower’s window in all his stupid, orange-haired glory, and brushed a gentle finger against his cheek. That simple gesture alone had ignited a burning desire within Felix, something he didn’t know he _ needed _.

Until now.

An arm wrapped around his back, pulling him closer. Felix choked back a sob as another arm snaked upwards, fingers slowly combing through his hair.

How was it that he could be reduced to near-tears by a gesture as simple as a _ hug _?

And yet, Sylvain hugged him for what felt like ages, murmuring reassurances as Felix clung desperately, never complaining about the tight grip Felix held, his fingers digging into Sylvain’s back. As Felix fought back tears, Sylvain held him close, anchoring him.

_ He’s real. _

Sylvain was real, and he was here, in front of him, _ holding _him.

And Felix reminded himself of that with each passing second, refusing to let go.

* * *

When Felix eventually broke away from their embrace, red-eyed with wet cheeks, Sylvain gave him a smile, reaching up to cup his face.

This time, Felix didn’t jerk away, feeling Sylvain’s thumb brush gently against his cheek, wiping away his tears. “Hey, Felix,” he said, voice deeper than Felix remembered, unfamiliar, and yet comforting at the same time. Hearing Sylvain say his name ignited a burning feeling in his chest. Sylvain winked at him, a grin on his face. “It’s been a while.”

Felix spluttered, choking back a laugh. He hit Sylvain against his chest, causing the other man to fall backwards with a grunt. “Seriously? _ That’s _what you say? After all this time? Goddess, you haven’t changed at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sylvain whined, feigning a wounded look as he sat back up, rubbing the area where Felix had punched him. “I’ve changed a lot, mind you. Just give me a chance.”

“No,” Felix deadpanned.

“Aw, c’mon Fe—” Sylvain couldn’t help breaking into laughter. He shook his head at Felix, grinning widely. “Oh, I can’t fake this anymore. Goddess, I’ve missed you.”

Felix’s heart fluttered. “You’re a sap.”

“Says the one who was clinging to me just now!” Sylvain retorted, causing Felix’s cheeks to _ burn. _ As he tried to shove Sylvain, the other man laughing as he dodged Felix’s attack, Sylvain pressed on. “Don’t you dare deny it, Felix,” he said, poking a finger at Felix’s chest. “You were hugging me! Hell, you were _ crying _!”

“S—shut _ up _ about it!” If it were possible to die from embarrassment, Felix would already be six feet under. His entire face burned, and his heart was going absolutely _ nuts _ , hammering wildly against his chest.

Sylvain smirked. “Make me.”

Within seconds, Sylvain was lying on the wooden floor, curled up in the fetal position as he groaned. He clenched his stomach with one arm, rubbing the area where Felix had struck out with his leg, slamming his foot into Sylvain’s gut, and kicking him onto the ground without hesitance.

With a pained moan, Sylvain raised his other arm into the air dramatically, reaching out for Felix who sat nearby, arms crossed. “_ Agh _, you’ve wounded me!”

“You’ll live.”

Sylvain shook his head, arm dropping to the ground, expression twisting into one of feigned pain. “This is the end, my dear Felix.”

Felix shook his head, covering his mouth with one hand to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “You’re—you’re insufferable. You’re fucking insufferable.”

“My vision is blurring,” Sylvain gasped, raising a hand to his forehead, eyes fluttering shut. “My stomach… it _ hurts. _This is the end. Goodbye, Felix.”

Felix choked back a laugh, torn between raising his voice and yelling at Sylvain, or collapsing into a fit of laughter. Instead, he settled for shaking his head at Sylvain, an unfamiliar feeling washing over him. It was the same feeling that twisted his chest and lit a warmth in his cheeks everytime Sylvain so much as spoke or moved.

He kicked Sylvain again, this time aiming for one of Sylvain’s limp arms. “Just get up, you useless bastard.”

“Hey—_ ow! _That one really hurt!”

* * *

When Sylvain had _ finally _gotten up, finally yielding after Felix had wrested his satchel away from him and dangled it outside the tower, he kept staring at the rope.

Felix watched Sylvain as he slung his satchel back across his shoulders, before turning to give him a bright smile. With one hand, he gestured to the rope. “You coming?”

Felix froze, staring at Sylvain.

His confusion must have been evident on his face because Sylvain continued speaking. “Well, with the rope and stuff, you can leave.”

Felix’s gaze flicked over to the rope—fraying at the end, draped over the windowsill, and dangling off the side of the tower.

“Ah.”

“It’s not really the most _ practical _solution,” Sylvain added, walking over to kneel on the window seat. “And yeah, the rope’s gonna snap at some point.”

Reaching up, Sylvain grabbed the rope, fingers brushing over the frayed edges, seemingly testing how likely it was to snap. “But hey, I can just snap this off and reknot it,” he said, reaching up to fiddle with the rope knotted around the curtain pole, fingers working to loosen the dead knot that Felix made earlier. “That’ll take us some time, but hey! We’ll probably live. I don’t know about you, but the idea of us falling to our deaths sounds _ pretty _bad. Just let me—”

“I can’t.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Sylvain was staring at him, eyes wide. Whatever cheerful expression he held earlier was gone, replaced with a disbelieving gaze.

The room lapsed into silence, as Sylvain kept giving him a stunned look, causing Felix to avert his gaze. He couldn’t keep staring into Sylvain’s confused eyes, seeing nothing but the ever-present question of _ why _.

Eventually, Sylvain spoke, voice strained. “Why?”

“You don’t get it. I—”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

Felix’s head whipped up, giving Sylvain a confused glare. “What—?”

Sylvain’s face was indescribable. Felix couldn’t tell if he was feeling anger, or resentment, or just plain out bewilderment. “You say you can’t, but—”

His anger flared. “I _ can’t _leave, you fucking asshole!”

“_ Really? _” Sylvain’s voice rose—not quite yelling, but not quite the calm, laid back voice he held just moments ago. “So you do want to leave then. Unless you don’t?”

Felix gawked.

“I—What the _ fuck _ does that even mean?” he yelled, staggering to his feet. “Of _ course _ I want to leave, idiot! I just can’t risk to get fucking _ caught _!”

Sylvain blinked. “I thought you’re alone right now?”

Felix clenched his fists, stifling a screech. He forced himself to take a deep breath before glancing up to give Sylvain a cutting glare. “Use your brain. You’re going up against two _ dragons. _We’d get caught before we even get to the nearest town.”

And finally, it clicked for Sylvain. “Oh. That’s… true.”

Felix shrugged. “Yeah.”

It took a while before Sylvain let out a shaky laugh. “Man… I’ll admit, it probably wasn’t my greatest plan ever. Sorry about that.”

“...It’s fine,” Felix eventually replied. All the anger he held earlier had seeped out of his voice, leaving him sounding tired.

Sylvain glanced around the room curiously as Felix continued to stare at him. “Well, since I’m here, why don’t you give me the grand tour? Show me around this—” He gestured around the room aimlessly with one hand, “—fabled tower that you’ve been trapped in for ten years?”

“Are you serious?”

“What else do we have to do right now? Besides, it’ll give us some time to, y’know. Talk and catch up, just like the old days.”

“...Fine,” Felix eventually sighed, relenting. The idea of him getting to spend a bit more time with Sylvain… was not something he hated. “But I’m kicking you out before sundown,” he added.

Sylvain winked, flashing him a confident grin. “Gotcha. Not to worry Felix, I’ll be gone before any big, bad dragon can catch me and burn me to a crisp. Now, what’s that room over there for?”

* * *

Sylvain was fascinated by the tower, Felix observed, as he showed his companion around the place.

The first room they entered was the study, neat and tidy in all ways except for the dust clouding the shelves and tables. Sylvain’s eyes kept glancing around the room, mouth in a tiny ‘o’, as he slowly took in the sight of everything around him.

“Flayn regularly gets me to mess up the room,” Felix eventually said, the memory of Flayn pulling Felix along by the wrist, giving him a bright grin before turning to push all the parchment paper off the table. The blank sheets had scattered all over the floor, as Flayn let out a triumphant yell, forcing Felix to crack a small smile as she continued to wreck the place.

Sylvain glanced over at him, eyes curious. “Oh?”

“Messing up the books and paper, dragging the furniture around, hiding the quills and ink…” The list went on and on.

“How did you two manage to move the—?”

“Flayn’s a dragon,” Felix answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, briefly forgetting the fact that Sylvain hadn’t lived with dragons for a decade of his life. “She usually tones it down, but she can break furniture if she wants to. I think she punched through the wall once by accident.”

Sylvain’s face paled, ever so slightly, turning to glance at the _ very _hard stone wall. “A—ah.”

As they left the study, Felix caught sight of the broken cabinet, now missing a glass panel. Stopping Sylvain, he pointed at it. “You made me break that.”

He could feel Sylvain’s incredulous stare. “How?”

“The first time you came. You yelled, and it startled me.”

Sylvain was staring at the cabinet. “It looks fine to me.”

“There used to be a glass panel there,” Felix answered. “Your voice scared the shit out of me, and I ended up throwing my book at the cabinet.”

Before Sylvain could think of a reply, Felix pulled him along, leaving the memory of the broken cabinet behind.

They took a quick stop in the bathroom, where Sylvain’s off-hand comment about the water system of the tower had sent Felix into a brief existential crisis trying to contemplate the existence of a functioning plumbing system in such a tall tower governed by two dragons. And then they were in the pantry, Sylvain venturing in as Felix lingered by the entrance, arms folded.

He watched as Sylvain reached out to grab a can of sardines—one of Flayn’s favourite snacks. As he rolled the can in his hand, reading the paper label, he couldn’t help asking, “How do you get food?”

“I don’t,” Felix answered, voice flat. As Sylvain shot him a quizzical look, Felix shrugged. “Seteth and Flayn leave every two or three weeks to restock the pantry.”

He could practically see the lightbulb go off in Sylvain’s head as he shoved the can back on the shelf with the other sardines. “So _ that’s _why you told me to come back in two weeks!”

Oh. Right. Felix never explained _ why _ two weeks specifically. Thankfully, Sylvain hadn’t ignored his words. If he had to watch Sylvain stumble into the clearing while Seteth and Flayn were there…

Felix pushed the thought out of his mind, suppressing a shiver. “Let’s go,” he barked, turning to leave the pantry.

As he left, though, Felix stumbled. His foot caught in a tangle of his hair, forcing him to crash into the floor with a loud _ thud _ .

He heard footsteps growing closer. Before long, Sylvain was towering over him with a look of concern, reaching out a hand for him to take. “Are you alright?”

“Just fucking peachy,” Felix bit out, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Staggering to his feet with Sylvain’s help, he gave his hair a death glare, mentally cursing the knots that had begun to form at the end again.

“Y’know… we could always cut it off. I have a dagger with me.”

“If you can think of an explanation for Seteth and Flayn, then sure.”

Sylvain’s mouth clamped shut at that, following Felix upstairs.

The bedroom… was definitely not Sylvain’s favourite part of the tower. In fact, judging by the way he froze in the doorway and kept glancing around the room in sheer horror, Felix figured that it was probably his _ least favourite _part of the entire building.

“How do you _ live _ like this?” Sylvain whispered, as he knelt down to sift through a pile of junk, hands shaking. “Don’t you _ clean _?”

“Sometimes.” Mostly whenever Felix was bored to the point where chores felt like something he _ wanted _ to do.

Sylvain’s breathing hitched. Rising to his feet, the orange-haired man brought his hands to his mouth, letting out what was probably the heaviest sigh Felix had ever heard in his life.

Sylvain turned to face him, face impassive. “Felix?”

Felix glanced over to a book on the floor, piled up on top of a combination of his and Flayn’s clothes. “What?”

“I love you, Felix. But with all due respect, your room is disgusting.”

Felix gave the room a quick once-over. Piles of clothes, books, and various knick-knacks and objects were strewn all over the floor. His bedsheets were rumpled, his pillows a beaten mess, and his bedclothes were lying in a wrinkly mess on top of his unfolded blanket. There were even empty cans of food lying on the shelves, gathering dust and quite possibly ants too.

The only part of the room that was neat was Flayn’s bed, a smaller bed pushed up against Felix’s larger one. It was carefully folded each morning, the pillow fluffed up, a stuffed fish toy placed gently against the soft pillow.

Felix would almost say that Flayn was neater than he was, if it weren’t for the fact that the only part of the room she maintained was her bed. Several of the empty tins of what used to be fruits and fish came from _ her _.

So instead of trying to defend his horrible wreck of a room that he was too tired and lazy to clean up, Felix instead grabbed Sylvain’s hand, dragging him down two flights of stairs. Sylvain didn’t protest.

Felix ended up kicking open the door to the makeshift training hall, pulling Sylvain into the room. As Sylvain broke off, wandering around, Felix rubbed his hand, biting his lips.

Holding Sylvain’s hand… was nice. It was warm. Comfortable.

Sylvain picked up one of the numerous training swords piled up in a corner of the room, turning it over in his hands. He brushed a finger along the edge of the blunted blade, pressing against the wood.

His finger came away with no blood and no cut. Kneeling down, Sylvain sifted through the pile, eyes roaming over the pile of identical swords.

“You won’t find a proper weapon in there,” Felix called out, unable to stop himself. As Sylvain turned his head to give Felix a look, Felix walked over, kneeling down beside his friend. Rummaging through the pile, his hand gravitated over to one sword in particular, with three lines etched into the hilt.

He held out the sword to Sylvain. “This is the sharpest sword in the pile.”

“Are you serious?” Sylvain pressed another finger against the sharp end of the blade, or rather, what _ would _be the sharp part of the blade if it weren’t made of blunt wood. Sure enough, his finger came away intact. The only difference was the indent in his skin. It was a deeper groove than the one the other blade left earlier.

Sylvain pursed his lips. “This isn’t going to hurt anything.”

“That’s the point.” Felix rose, kicking the scattered swords back into a haphazard pile. “Seteth doesn’t allow any sharp objects in the house. No weapons, no fragile objects, nothing.”

Sylvain dropped the training sword in his hand, standing as it clattered on the pile. “I don’t like it but it makes sense. You’d have probably killed them if you got the chance.”

“It’s so _ stupid _ —” Felix let out a screech of frustration. “I can’t even cut my _ hair _!”

Sylvain was giving him that one look again, the one that Felix had become acquainted with during Sylvain’s visit. It was the face he made when his brain finally caught up with him and slammed the missing pieces of the puzzle in place, when his eyes widened and his mouth gaped for a short moment.

“So that’s why—”

“I have long hair. Yes. You think I _ want _ this?” He grasped large chunks of his hair, giving them a harsh tug. Felix ignored the way his scalp burned at the gesture. “Everyone mistakes me for a _ damsel _—”

Sylvain let out a nervous chuckle, eyes darting to the side. Before Felix could go on another hair-related rampage, Sylvain had darted over to the curtained doorway, pulling the cloth to the side. “Hey, what’s—”

Sylvain choked, spluttering and stumbling back at the sight of the ominous green door, glowing with draconic energy. Felix gave it a glance, before looking back at Sylvain, who was fixated on the mysterious wooden door, eyes frantic.

“Oh, that? That’s the entrance,” Felix explained.

Sylvain shot him a strange look. “It’s _ glowing _!”

“Because it’s used by the dragons, Sylvain.”

“How are you so _ calm _—” Sylvain stuttered to a stop, fingers clicking as realisation hit him once again. “Actually, nevermind. I forgot.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “How do you keep forgetting that I’ve lived with _ dragons _for ten years?”

“...Because they’re not here?”

“Fair enough,” Felix replied, walking over to Sylvain. Grabbing hold of the other man’s hand, he gave it a tight squeeze. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

* * *

When Sylvain left, it was without much fanfare.

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, staining the edges of the sky with orange hues. Sylvain had undone the knot of the rope, snapping off the frayed edges, and retying it around the pole.

The time they spent, simply chatting in the living room, was nothing short of pleasant. As bitter as Felix often sounded, his words often harsh and grating, the way that he sat close to Sylvain, often interweaving their hands together, was a comfort for him.

It had been ten years after all, and Flayn’s big embraces could only fill so much of the gaping void he felt in the depths of his chest.

Alas, as much as Felix wanted Sylvain to stay, the two of them knew better. And so he was seeing Sylvain off with another hug, hands wrapping around Sylvain’s back tightly.

Sylvain had let out a laugh at that, returning the gesture. With his arms around Felix, he lowered his head and rested it in the crook of his neck. “I’ll be back, Felix.”

“I know.” Felix’s voice was muffled, buried in Sylvain’s shirt. “Just let me have this.”

And Sylvain did.

By the time Sylvain had broke off and left, sliding to the foot of the tower where he waited for Felix to untie the rope and toss it down, Felix was already beginning to ache. Flinging the beige rope out of the window, Felix watched through lidded eyes, arms resting on the windowsill, as Sylvain backed away slowly, giving him a smile and a wave, before he disappeared into the trees.

There was a void in his chest that he buried years ago, repressing it and ignoring it until he forgot all about it.

Sylvain’s return that day, his reckless visit up to the tower, his warm embraces with Felix, his deeper voice and joyous laugh…

It tore open that void once more, leaving him with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. The desire to leave was overwhelming him, only fended off with Felix’s weak attempts at rationalising the situation. Logically, it wouldn’t make sense for him to make off with Sylvain on a whim, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind him that Seteth would follow.

Emotionally though?

He wouldn’t admit it to Sylvain’s face—not more than once, at least—but he missed the stupid idiot. A lot.

Felix sighed, burying his head in the crook of his arms. He barely noticed it when Seteth and Flayn had returned, until the duo walked upstairs, and found him fast asleep by the windowsill, slumped against the window seat in a peaceful slumber.

* * *

They quickly fell into a pattern.

Whenever Seteth and Flayn left, Felix would sit by the windowsill for as long as it took before a familiar orange-haired figure popped into view downstairs. Sometimes, it took him less than an hour, striding into the grassy clearing and giving Felix a pleasant surprise. Other times, it took him _ hours _ before he raced into the glade as the afternoon sun hung high in the skies, knotting the rope and firing an arrow at breakneck speed.

Felix would lean out of the window and grab the arrow each time, which always landed within range of the tower’s widest window. Unraveling the rope, he would knot it around the metal pole above the window, listening to it creak later under the weight of Sylvain clambering up the rope.

And as soon as Sylvain’s head popped into view, before the man tumbled into the tower, Felix would be there to greet him with a sharp insult and a soft embrace.

* * *

The second time Sylvain visited the tower, three weeks after the first, they had taken it easy, settling down in the living room. Sylvain had kicked up his legs, sprawling his body across the entire length of the sofa, while Felix sat nearby, pushing an armchair closer to Sylvain.

That day, they didn’t bother traversing into any of the other rooms. Instead, they talked.

Or rather, Sylvain talked, overwhelming most of the conversation. For the most case, Felix was content to sit back and listen to Sylvain’s voice flooding the room, slowly recapping the past ten years of his own life that Felix wasn’t around to witness.

“Dimitri’s doing fine,” Sylvain said, after Felix questioned him about it. “He’s the king now.”

“_ What? _”

Sylvain sighed. “Long story short, sometime after you vanished, there was a… unfortunate incident.”

Felix watched as Sylvain slid into sitting position, expression solemn. “The former king and queen didn’t survive.”

Felix’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know.”

“I figured, since you’ve been stuck in here for so long.” Sylvain leaned back into the sofa, grabbing a stray cushion, and hugging it to his chest. His bow, quiver and satchel were lying on the table in front of him, arrows strewn across the wooden surface. “Dimitri got crowned two years ago. He’s managing well though. After all, he’s got Ingrid at his side.”

“Ingrid.” The memory of her warm smile and braided hair, filled his mind. She always visited him, sticking closely to…

_ Glenn. _

Sylvain was still speaking as Felix gave him a frantic stare. “—doing great! She managed to become a knight—Dimitri personally made her part of his royal guard, or whatever the name was. She helps him a lot with stuff, and—”

“Glenn,” Felix bit out, voice strained. “How is he.”

Sylvain winced, and Felix’s heart skipped a beat.

And then his friend was giving him an apologetic look, eyes downtrodden. “Oh, goddess. I’m so sorry Felix, I forgot about Glenn.”

“He better not be fucking _ dead _,” Felix snarled.

Sylvain blinked at him. “What—? Oh, Glenn’s not dead. He’s alive that’s for sure.”

Felix stared. “Then what was that look of _ pity _ for?”

“Well, you’d think I’d start talking about your family before your friends, but I completely forgot about them.” Sylvain let out a laugh. Felix felt his shoulders relax, slumping back in the armchair as Sylvain swept on. “He’s been doing well—or at least, as well as he can, considering you disappeared. But he’s gotten better lately. He married Ingrid a while back after they kept putting it off for _ ages _. Your dad’s still the duke, but Glenn’s probably gonna take over soon.”

Felix was quiet, turning his head away from Sylvain.

He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of thinking about his friends over the years, let alone his family. Sure, there were moments where the thought of his past entered his mind, but after the first few years he spent desperately clinging to something he wouldn’t ever get back…

The obvious course of action for him, he realised, several years prior, was to bury everything under lock and key unless he managed to escape one day.

And now, Sylvain was here, digging up old memories and emotions that Felix honest to goddess _ forgot _he had. Memories that weren’t the simpler ones he still recalled from time to time. Sylvain’s inability to wield a bow. Ingrid falling out of a tree. Glenn helping Dimitri onto a horse.

No, these memories went _ deep. _Sylvain holding him close, whispering words of comfort when his knee got bruised and scraped. Dimitri going along with his younger self’s childish games of kings and knights, swinging around toy swords dramatically day after day. Glenn walking Ingrid into his room, before Ingrid and Felix both ran forward, begging him to stay and spend some time with them.

For the first time in years, Felix’s heart _ ached. _

A warm hand rested on his thigh, causing Felix to lift his head. Sylvain was staring at him, his gentle smile contrasted by the mix of worry and sadness in his eyes. “You okay?”

“What does it look like?” There was no real bite behind what would usually be a scathing comment. Felix simply didn’t have the energy to muster up any anger in his voice, feigned or otherwise.

“...Your brother still misses you, y’know?” Sylvain said, voice hushed. “Your dad too. They spent years searching. They only called it off four years ago because they were forced to. They couldn’t spare any more time or soldiers on what so many people saw as a lost cause. There was this entire funeral procession, but even so… I think they still had hope.”

_ Only fools would have hoped, _ a small part of his brain spat out. For once, he ignored it. _ I don’t want to talk about this. _

“So what about you?” he eventually said, trying to keep his voice as impassive as possible.

Sylvain laughed. “Oh, I left Gautier territory long ago.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Hey, look—when they called off the search a few years back, I didn’t want to believe it.” Sylvain waved one hand in the air aimlessly, as if he were trying to emphasise just how unimportant his home kingdom was to him. “I mean, six years of searching, all to call it quits? I took a horse, and ditched.”

“You…” Felix shook his head. “You’re a fool.”

With a sweeping motion, Sylvain wrapped his hands around Felix’s, their fingers wrapping around each other. With a smile and a wink, Sylvain continued, as Felix’s heart began to pound wildly.

“But I found you, didn’t I?”

* * *

The third time Sylvain crashed through the tower’s window, they spent some time wandering around the building, exploring deeper than they did the first time.

When they walked into the makeshift training hall, Felix instantly gravitated over to the sword pile. He tossed a random sword at Sylvain, who nearly dropped it, and picked up an identical blade for himself. Striding over to Sylvain, he pointed the sword at his chest, eyes glinting. “Spar with me.”

Sylvain’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a sly smile crossing his face. “You sure?”

“Just because I’ve been stuck here for ten years doesn’t mean you’re going to win.”

“We’ll see about that!” Sylvain laughed, before charging.

A few moments later, and Sylvain was lying on the ground, limbs sprawled out, his sword knocked out of his hands. Felix stood above him, his own sword pointed at Sylvain, an amused look on his face.

Sylvain whined. “Aw. You beat me.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed. “You’re shit at this.”

Sylvain sat up, pouting. “C’mon, Fe! I barely use swords, and you’ve been training with these—” He gestured to the pile of wooden swords to a corner of the room, “—things for _ years _!”

Felix pointedly ignored the way his heart did a little dance at the nickname Sylvain concocted. Instead, he gave Sylvain a light kick, knocking him back onto the floor. “Stop making excuses.”

“But it’s _ true _!”

They later ended up climbing the stairs, heading to the bedroom, which was marginally cleaner this time. Sylvain still wrinkled his nose at the sight of open cans and the occasional piece of clothing tossed here and there, but compared to the _ first _time he visited…

“It’s almost liveable,” Sylvain commented, bending down to pick up one of Flayn’s blouses, tossed in a corner two days prior. Felix watched as he continued to gather the scattered pieces of clothing all over the floor, dumping them in a pile on his bed.

Felix walked over, hovering next to Sylvain as his friend began to fold the clothes. “You’ve got stupidly high standards for a clean room.”

“I was always the one helping you clean up your room when we were younger,” Sylvain said. Felix paused, staring blankly at him. Sylvain faltered. “I’d—uh—help you to gather up your clothes, and fold them? And also keep your toys?”

“I. Don’t remember that. At all.”

Sylvain shrugged. “I guess there’s better things to remember than cleaning up your room, huh?”

“I suppose.”

Sylvain finished folding the laundry, wandering downstairs as Felix stashed them in the wardrobe. When Felix reappeared at the foot of the staircase, he followed Sylvain into the study.

Eventually, they kept aimlessly wandering around the building, messing around with everything of interest that they could find. Seteth’s quills got rearranged, all the ink pots emptied into one bigger one—a minor prank that Seteth wouldn’t pay much mind. They dug through the pantry and found an unopened can of bell peppers. The way that Sylvain tried to choke down more of the peppers when he obviously didn’t enjoy eating them as much as Felix did was weirdly endearing.

But before long, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon.

And with that, Sylvain had departed once more, sliding down the rope with record speed, and vanishing into the distance, leaving no trace of evidence behind.

* * *

The fourth time Sylvain ended up in the tower, they were seated in the living room again, and Felix was talking for once.

Sylvain had told him stories about Faerghus and Fodlan and all the strange things he had seen on his journey across the continent. His hunt for clues leading him to Felix led him into Adrestia and Leicester, places that Felix had never gotten the chance to visit before he getting swept away by a dragon as a teenager.

Sylvain spoke of a group of people his age wandering around Adrestia—a green-haired healer who kept falling asleep at the worst times, a brawler with bright blue hair who kept yelling too loud and was too enthusiastic about fighting, and finally, a hooded archer whose voice carried a Faerghus accent, with grey hair and pale green eyes, speaking politely.

He travelled with them for a while before he crossed into Leicester, banding together with a girl named Leonie. Together, they traversed Leicester before splitting off somewhere with a bag of gold and several bottles of fancy alcohol that Sylvain later sold for some spare cash.

Sylvain’s stories went on and on and on, talking about a pink-haired axe wielder who wooed him into helping her fend off bandits, a haughty noble draped in purple who offered him a bag of gold to deliver an important message to someone in Adrestia, the emperor of Adrestia who gave him a nod as he spotted her in the streets of Enbarr…

Sylvain’s voice kept going until it stopped, his friend slumping against the sofa, hugging a cushion tightly as he groaned. “I can’t keep doing this,” he rasped, voice shaky and dry. “My throat hurts.”

Felix got up and grabbed a nearby waterskin, watching Sylvain chug it down. As Sylvain finished with a refreshed sigh, he gave Felix a curious glance. “Why don’t you tell me a story or two?”

“What?”

“You’ve gotta have some kind of story after living with dragons for ten years,” Sylvain clarified, waving the waterskin in the air. “And I’m interested! So go on. Tell me something.”

Felix considered, for a brief moment, to brush Sylvain’s request off, spitting out an excuse of “It’s boring.” Instead, he nodded at Sylvain, giving him a strange look. “Alright.”

He told Sylvain about the time when a plague of rats invaded the pantry, eliciting a shrill screech from Flayn when she tried to drop off a fresh load of food. Seteth had barred the door shut as the trio stood in front of it, hearing a faint squeaking from behind the wooden door.

Felix had barged into the room, armed with a wooden sword, and somehow managed to whack as many rats as he could to death.

Flayn had entered the pantry midway through, having braved her fear of the large swarm of rodents. With a swipe of her draconic claws, she helped to down the last few rats, before turning to marvel at Felix’s bloodbath and sing praises about him.

Felix went on to talk about the time when Flayn carried a glass bottle into the room, a strange, purple liquid sloshing about inside. Felix had raised an eyebrow at that, making a face at the sight of the oozing, bubbling liquid. Within mere moments, he had flung into a full-blown frenzy as Flayn proceeded to pop the cork off, and down the entire bottle in one go.

Seteth had walked in several minutes later, dropping the basket of groceries and other goods he had as he took in the sight of Flayn’s purple hair, sprawled in thick curls across the wooden floor. Somehow, it was longer than _ Felix’s _hair, which he used to pull back into a ponytail before his hair got too long to comfortably tie up.

As Felix and Seteth freaked, Flayn simply giggled, raising one hand to cover her mouth. She kept playing with strands of her newly-purple hair, twirling her curls around her fingers. After a day, though, the effect had faded, and her hair was back to normal.

The next story he narrated was about the time Seteth had fallen asleep at his desk. He and Flayn took the time to dip the feather end of a quill into ink pots, brushing black marking across his face. When Seteth eventually rose, cracking open an eye as he yawned, he would be greeted by the sight of his graffitied face in the bathroom mirror.

Flayn had drawn pretty flowers and cartoon dragons. Felix drew crude illustrations that he refused to describe to Sylvain, drawings so vile that Seteth stormed into the bedroom in a rage, where Felix and Flayn collapsed into laughter at the sight of his face.

His stories about the dragon duo were far and few, compared to the numerous tales of Fodlan that Sylvain weaved with his tongue, but they were the rare moments in his life that made the entire experience of living in a tower feel a little less stressful, and a little more fine.

And Sylvain listened patiently as he spoke for hours, a wide smile on his face, bursting into occasional fits of laughter.

Felix kept staring at his face throughout his storytelling, chest warm and heart aflutter with each time Sylvain beamed at him, truly enraptured by his stories, _ listening _to him.

* * *

The fifth time Sylvain visited him, they had ended up in his bedroom again.

Sylvain was sprawled across the mattress, lying on his side. He was flipping through one of Flayn’s fables, fingers brushing over the careful illustrations Flayn often added to the bottom of each page. He was talking about the drawings as Felix watched him, sitting cross-legged nearby.

He didn’t really pay attention to what Sylvain was talking about, instead focused on the way that Sylvain spoke, lips moving as he recited the next page of the fable.

There had been a strange feeling buried in the depths of Felix’s chest, one that had grown and grown with each visit Sylvain paid to the tower. It wasn’t bad, wasn’t unpleasant at all. But it burned and ached for reasons he didn’t understand, filling his cheeks with warmth and his heart with emotion each time Sylvain danced across the floor, his laughter filling the air.

And then Sylvain was looking up at him, eyes twinkling. His mouth was turned up in a bright smile, lips parting as he asked Felix a question that Felix didn’t even hear.

Felix’s breathing hitched.

Sylvain pushed himself up, kneeling on his knees, legs leaving an indent in the mattress below. His cheerful expression faltered, replaced by one of concern, mouth opening and shutting as he asked, “Are you okay?”

_ I’m fine, _ Felix thought.

He was not.

Rather than answer Sylvain’s worried query, Felix reached out wordlessly, one hand raising to cup Sylvain’s cheek. It was reminiscent of the way that Sylvain kept brushing his thumb against Felix’s cheeks weeks prior, Felix echoing the action as he rested his hand against Sylvain’s cheek.

The burning feeling in his chest grew stronger as he moved closer, pressing his lips against Sylvain’s.

He felt the way that Sylvain froze, before relaxing into the kiss, arms snaking around Felix’s back to pull him close. Sylvain’s lips were chapped, Felix observed, the faintest hint of the canned oranges they shared earlier still on his lips.

It felt nice_ . _ It felt gentle and warm and it felt _ nice.  
_

Bit by bit, they broke apart, staring at each other in silence. Sylvain’s cheeks were pink, his eyes shining with wonder as his lips curled into a smile.

Felix’s heart fluttered, his chest burning, lowering his arm to reach out and wrap his hands in Sylvain’s. Squeezing tightly, Felix watched as Sylvain’s lips parted to speak. “So, should I take this as a hint that you like me?”

Felix’s cheeks burned, as he let go of Sylvain’s hands to shove him backwards, listening to him laugh as he fell back onto the bed. “Shut up, idiot,” he retorted, though there was no real bite in his voice.

In fact, there was the faintest hint of fondness in Felix’s voice as he spoke. Bending down to capture Sylvain’s lips in another kiss, Felix was unable to hide the smile that bloomed on his face.

* * *

The warmth of summer had begun to give way to the chill of autumn, but Sylvain’s visits didn’t stop. Each time he clambered up the rope and fell through the window, Felix would be there to pull him to his feet, pressing a shy kiss against his lips before chiding him for being so careless while climbing.

They touched—a lot. Their hands kept sneaking together, squeezing tightly. Felix’s palms were slightly coarse, his skin rubbed raw from years of swinging around a wooden sword, but in comparison to Sylvain’s calloused hands, littered with rope burns, Felix’s hands were practically _ dainty. _

“You should get gloves,” Felix said one day, eyes fixated on the red marks that covered Sylvain’s palms.

“I should,” Sylvain replied. He didn’t, though, claiming to have forgotten to buy a pair with each visit he made, shrugging off Felix’s worries with a smile and a laugh.

It didn’t matter what they were doing at any time. One way or another, either of them would lean over to initiate a kiss. Felix would rise on tiptoes and press his lips against Sylvain’s wordlessly, the other startling before settling into the embrace. Sylvain would often lean down and cup Felix’s face in his hands, tilting his chin upwards before kissing deeply.

The glint in Sylvain’s hazel eyes never failed to spark a burning desire in his chest, whenever they pulled apart from their embraces, staring at each other.

But much like the fairy tales that inspired the rumours about the maiden and the tower, nothing good could last forever.

Felix had lost track of the number of times Sylvain had visited sometimes after the first time they had kissed. This time, they were hovering by the window, Sylvain murmuring something to him in a hushed voice, as they held each other tightly. Goodbyes were always tough, even with Sylvain’s promise that he was working on a plan, but he just needed time.

Except this time, they made the mistake of lingering just a _ little _too long.

A faint creaking sound reverberated through the tower. Felix jolted away from Sylvain’s embrace, whipping around to stare at the staircase leading downstairs.

There was only one door in the house that would creak from disuse, heavier and rustier than others.

Felix _ froze. _

_ Fuck. _

“Fuck,” he whispered, a chill running down his spine. “Fuck, oh _ shit _—”

“Felix—”

Sylvain got cut off as Felix glanced around the room wildly, eyes flitting from the rope dangling out the window, to the petrified look on Sylvain’s face, the taller man at a complete loss. Sure, they could untie the rope, but the fact that it was already hanging in plain sight posed a problem.

Whoever had just entered the tower had to walk through the glade. Which meant that they saw the long trail of rope stretching from the tower window to the ground below.

Letting out an impressive string of curses, Felix stormed around the room, brain struggling to piece together a solution, a plan—_ anything _that could help.

He could try to _ hide _ Sylvain, but that plan was already a failure. Where could he possibly hide someone as tall and gangly as _ Sylvain _ ? A cupboard? There weren’t any in the living room. Below his bed? That was possible, but—would his footsteps be heard going up the stairs? The tower was not a noisy place, and the wooden steps creaked whenever someone walked up them.

One option was to push Sylvain upstairs, but two pairs of footsteps stomping up the staircase would arouse suspicion. The other option would be to shove Sylvain towards the direction of the bedroom and let him hide himself, but Felix would have to explain why he was in the living room when there was _ clearly _the sound of someone walking upstairs earlier.

Hiding Sylvain wasn’t an option, Felix realised, clenching his teeth tightly as he paced around the room. He could feel Sylvain’s eyes on him, but he barely paid him any mind. His mind was racing, he could feel his heart palpitating wildly, his breathing was strained and shallow, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy—

The situation was hopeless.

_ Goddess, please no. Please, _ please _ no. _

A hand wrapped around his wrist. Felix jerked away, giving Sylvain a wide-eyed stare, chest tightening and aching as he struggled with the reality that there was just no _ way _ to get Sylvain _ out _.

Sylvain’s hands shook, his eyes flashing with pain. Even so, he still tried to keep his expression as calm as he could, struggling to maintain an impassive face. “Felix, please—”

The sound of footsteps thumping against the creaking stairs grew louder and louder, causing the two men to freeze. Staring at the staircase, they watched as a small figure came into view, head peeking around the pillar that the staircase wound around, green eyes widening as the sight in front of her.

Flayn stood at the staircase landing, mouth agape as she stared at the duo in front of her. Her shocked eyes flicked from Felix to Sylvain and back to Felix, as she covered her mouth with both hands.

Silence stretched out between them for what felt like an eternity before Felix finally staggered forward, relief flooding through him. It was Flayn—thank the _ goddess _it was Flayn, who knew of his desires to escape unharmed, who remembered the stories Felix used to tell about his childhood friends many years ago, before he decided to repress as many memories and feelings related to his past as possible.

But Flayn was alone. And while he felt immense relief at the prospect of avoiding Seteth, logic chided him and reminded him that Seteth was _ never _far behind.

He stood in front of her, desperation coursing through him. “Flayn.”

Flayn finally uncovered her mouth, giving him an inscrutable look. “Felix,” she started, voice quivering ever so slightly. “What is the meaning of—?”

The words rushed out before he could let Flayn finish. “_ Where’s Seteth? _ ”

Flayn stammered, fumbling for words. “He has not returned yet— He had to stay at the town awhile longer, but— oh, _ goddess _, Felix—”

He grabbed hold of her hands, giving her a desperate look. It was uncharacteristic of him, he _ knew _ it, the complete opposite of his usual prickly attitude and harsh words. But the feeling of dread that loomed over him as each second ticked by left him with no choice.

“You have to help me get him out of here.”

Flayn’s eyes widened, flitting to one side to glance over his shoulders, presumably sneaking a glance at the man lingering behind him.

Felix could hear Sylvain’s voice, shaking and _ strained. _ “ _ Felix— _”

“If Seteth is coming back, then the rope isn’t going to work,” Felix continued, voice panicked. “He’ll see it, and Sylvain isn’t going to get away in time.”

Flayn gave him an impassive glance. The only thing that betrayed her true feelings about the situation at hand was the way her lips quivered slightly, and the pity in her eyes.

“...My only request is that you explain everything to me later,” Flayn eventually said, after what felt like an eternity.

“Fine.” His reply was immediate, his words rushed. “Just get him out. Now.”

He could hear Sylvain’s voice. “Don’t I get a say in this—?”

Whirling around, Felix shot Sylvain the deadliest look he could muster, snarling, “Do you want to _ die _?”

Sylvain flinched, taking a step backwards. His gaze darted between Felix and Flayn, eyes narrowing whenever he caught sight of the dragon standing next to him. He opened his mouth, voice shaking. “I—”

“Because I sure as fucking _ hell _don’t want to watch you die.”

Sylvain faltered. Whatever he was about to say seemed to die on his lips. Instead, he took a step towards Felix, then stopped.

His voice was soft. “Felix…”

Felix turned away, averting his gaze. “Flayn. _ Please. _”

The green-haired girl gave him one last look, her eyes brimming with understanding. Within a flash, her hands lit up with green flames, ancient energy crackling around her palms.

Felix heard footsteps—Sylvain staggering backwards—as Flayn took a step forward. Her eyes narrowed into slits, eyebrows furrowing with concentration. Her green curls whipped around her like a veil as she raised both hands, claws pulsating with green pulses of magic.

“This will not hurt!” Flayn shouted, barely audible above the crackling sound of her wild, untamed magic. Her voice was deeper, garbled, as if another creature were speaking from her mouth.

With a yell, she flung her magic forward. Felix shut his eyes, forcing himself to avoid looking at Sylvain, whose yelling was inaudible in the wake of Flayn’s explosive magic, whose last memory of Felix was him _ yelling _at him, words cutting much harsher in the wake of their abrupt separation.

There was a bright flash of light—so bright that he could see it behind his eyelids—and then there was silence.

Felix cracked open his eyes.

In place of where Sylvain had been standing was a circle of ashes, a thin cloud of smoke rising from the patch. A side effect of Flayn’s magic, untamed and still uncontrollable, for she rarely ever practiced it due to Seteth’s fear of getting caught.

Flayn was standing next to him, her wide eyes fixed on something else. Following her gaze, Felix looked past the soot and smoke, his eyes landing on…

“The rope,” Flayn breathed. “Felix, the rope—!”

“_ Shit _—”

Dashing forward, the duo hurriedly pulled the entire length of rope into the tower, Flayn jumping onto the window seat to untie the knot as fast as she could. When the end of the rope was finally untied, Flayn grabbed the coil of rope in her hands, throwing it onto the floor in the middle of the room.

“Stand back,” Flayn warned, her eyes glinting with determination.

As Felix took a few steps backwards, Flayn’s hands crackled with energy once more, her draconic features slowly beginning to creep back. Only this time, her clawed hands were bursting with something hotter, something _ warmer _, something unlike the ancient magic she had used before.

With a yell, Flayn flung a fireball at the coil of rope, which burst into green flames.

Felix’s heart stuttered, his breathing ragged as plumes of smoke began to waft through the room. “_ This _ is your _ solution _?”

“_ NO! _ ” Flayn’s voice was shrill. “I mean— _ yes _, but—”

“The tower is going to catch on fucking _ fire _—”

Flayn shook her head, clawed fists bursting with an icy magic, glowing for the third time. “_ Hold on _!”

And for the third time, Flayn casted another magic spell, blasting the growing fire with a large chunk of ice.

Somehow, it worked.

The green flames died down, leaving them with a puddle of damp soot and wet wood, the floorboards charred black by the fire earlier. The smoke around the room still posed a problem, however, and as the duo slumped onto the sofa nearby, Flayn waved a hand in the air, casting a basic wind spell to try and filter the smoke in the air.

Felix’s shoulders dropped. He let out a shaky sigh, breathing slowing and heartbeat returning to normal as time ticked by.

He felt Flayn staring at him. With a groan, he tilted his head to look over at her, taking in her messy hair, her usual curls having come loose in the chaos of magic earlier, and questioning eyes. Her draconic features had faded, her slit eyes returning to normal, and her claws replaced with hands.

Flayn exhaled, shaking her head before fixing him with a serious look, hiding her nervousness as best as she could.

“Care to tell me what that was about?”

Felix opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a creaking noise echoed through the tower.

Flayn froze, before running a hand through her hair frantically, trying to smooth her frazzled curls back into her usual hairstyle. Felix forced himself to ignore the way his body went rigid, slouching against the sofa. His best bet was to try and act as noncommittal as he could, playing it as safe as possible should Seteth burst in with a barrage of questions.

Seteth came into view, a smile on his face as he climbed the last few steps of the staircase. “Good evening, Felix, Flayn. Apologies for the delay, however—”

The older man froze at the sight in front of him.

In front of the window was a large ring of wet ashes, the floorboards below blackened and crumbling into pieces. The faintest haze of residual smoke still lingered over the room, a rancid smell that caused Felix’s eyes to water, forcing him to blink away tears.

Seteth stared, mouth agape, the baskets in his hands dropping to the floor with a resounding _ thud _ . His eyes slowly drifted from the scene in front of him to the sofa, fixing a nervous Flayn and a noncommittal Felix with a hard stare.

“What,” Seteth said, voice steely, “in the goddess’ name _ happened here?! _”

“I can explain, Father!” Flayn replied instantly, jumping to her feet. “I was trying to practice a spell earlier, since I returned to the tower early, but as you can see, it didn’t… go so well.”

Flayn was fidgeting as she spoke, hands fiddling with the hem of her frilly skirt. Felix stared at her, before sneaking a nervous peek at Seteth.

Seteth was staring at Flayn, arms crossed, the baskets of food and other goods forgotten on the floor around him. His eyes were narrowed, fixing Flayn with a steely gaze, looking between her and the mess on the floor in front of him.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, Seteth’s shoulders loosened, his arms dropping to the side. He let out a heavy sigh, stepping forward to kneel down and inspect the pile of wet ash and the destroyed floorboards. “Flayn, you do realise there is a reason why we do not conduct our magic inside the tower.”

Flayn visibly deflated, head hanging low as she nodded. “I remember.”

Seteth’s hands brushed against the floor, watching parts of the wooden floorboards crumble beneath his touch. The pile of wet ash stuck to the floor in a disgusting heap, serving as nothing but an eyesore and possibly a respiratory risk.

Eventually, Felix watched as Seteth stood up. The faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips as he spoke. “Seeing as there are no serious damages, however, I’ll let this slide, just this once.”

Flayn gasped. “_ Really? _”

Her father nodded. “Yes. Really. But do not repeat the same mistake again,” he added, a warning tone in his voice. “You could put yourself and Felix into serious danger.”

Tilting his head to give Felix a nod, Seteth turned back to Flayn. “Now run along now. I’ll take care of this mess.”

Flayn tackled Seteth, hugging him tightly. “Thank you so much, father!” she said, pulling back from the hug to give him a beaming smile. “I assure you, this will not happen again!”

Before he knew it, Flayn had pulled Felix to his feet, dragging him by the wrist upstairs. As they left the room, Felix caught one last glance of Seteth, staring at the wreckage with a strange look in his eyes.

* * *

Felix watched as Flayn paced the floor in front of him, arms behind her back.

She eventually stopped, fixing him with a serious stare, the only thing betraying her true feelings being the spark of curiosity in her eyes. Pointing a finger at him, she tilted her head. “You promised to tell me everything earlier.”

Felix bit back an irritated sigh, seated on the side of the bed. “I did,” he grumbled.

Flayn crossed her arms, giving him a firm nod. “Tell me everything.”

His eyes drifted to the open doorway, a shudder running down his spine. “Shut the door first.”

The window in the bedroom was small, but Felix could see the night sky outside, littered with twinkling stars and the shining half-moon. As Flayn pushed the wooden door shut with a _ thud, _ locking the door shut with a _ click, _Felix fell back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He heard footsteps against the wooden floor. The mattress sagged as Flayn joined him, sprawled out on the mattress, to his right. Felix edged slightly to the side as her hair tickled his face.

They laid in silence until Flayn sighed. “Felix. You promised.”

“I did.”

He watched as Flayn pushed herself up with her arms, legs criss-crossing as she sat on the mattress, fixing him with a hard stare.

Felix groaned, forcing himself to sit up, facing Flayn. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything!”

“Too broad.” As Flayn pouted, Felix rolled his eyes. “Look, just ask me questions, okay? I have no fucking clue where to even start.”

Flayn nodded. “Who was that person visiting you?”

The mental image of _ Sylvain smiling, Sylvain laughing, Sylvain hugging him _, flashed through Felix’s mind. A surge of affection rose through him, flooding his cheeks with warmth.

“That was… Sylvain,” Felix muttered, voice dropping as he spoke, averting his gaze. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a playful smile crossing Flayn’s lips, her green eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I assume that he’s a very important person to you, then?” If it were possible, Felix’s cheeks burned even _ harder. _ His entire face must have been flushed red at Flayn’s teasing voice, pointedly avoiding the girl’s knowing gaze.

Flayn laughed. “Your face says everything, Felix!”

“Shut_ up, _” he bit out, beginning to regret his promise.

As Flayn’s laughter petered out, the room slowly trickling back into quietness, a gentle hand reached out, giving Felix’s wrist a gentle squeeze. Shoving the images of _ Sylvain’s warm hands wrapping around his wrist _out of his mind, Felix slowly glanced up, taking in the reassuring smile on Flayn’s face.

There was a lump in his throat as Flayn sat back, her humoured voice now something softer. “I remember you telling me about him, long ago.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Excuse me?”

“Back when you first arrived at this tower,” Flayn clarified. She was staring at the ceiling now, eyes distant, still smiling. “Before you closed yourself off from your emotions, you used to tell me stories about your past, and especially, your friends.”

“You still remember that?” His voice was tinged with surprise, as Felix racked his brain. “I don’t remember telling you anything.”

“Oh, I have an _ excellent _ memory, Felix,” Flayn laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. “Though I am not surprised if you happened to have forgotten much of your past. After all, it _ was _quite a long while ago.”

“I remember your stories of your childhood friends.” Her voice was wistful, laced with melancholy. “Sylvain, Dimitri, and Ingrid, if my memory serves me right. You used to tell me the games you would play with your friends, and all the fun times you had with them. And the way that you spoke about them made it clear to me—years ago—that they were dear to your heart.”

Felix listened quietly, watching as Flayn’s eyes fluttered shut. “The things that you told me about Sylvain back then. I still remember them. How he was your best friend. How you spent so much time with him because Dimitri and Ingrid were always so much busier than he was. How he humoured you, and the time you spent playing together. How you loved him, perhaps even more than a friend.”

Flayn’s voice was hushed, only loud enough for Felix’s ears.

Felix bit his lips, a cacophony of emotions swirling in his chest. There was a bittersweet, melancholic feeling somewhere deep down, mixing with sadness and _ joy, _ the longing urge of missing something slowly resurfacing after _ years _.

“I don’t—” Felix shook his head, at a complete loss for words. There was just too much, too _ much _ going on, with Flayn’s nostalgic musings filling him with the faintest bit of _ déjà vu _ , with the chaotic mix of emotions rising within him. “I don’t _ remember _.”

“It would be unrealistic for you to remember something from such a long time ago,” Flayn replied, opening her eyes. “But the way that you looked while you spoke his name earlier… It is obvious that he is still precious to you—even now, ten years later.”

He bit his lips.

“Is it that obvious?”

Flayn fixed him with a stare. “Your entire face flushed scarlet, Felix. You avoided looking at my eyes. But I do not wish to humiliate you,” she added as he quickly glanced away. “Nor do I wish to force you into talking about how you feel towards him.”

She reached out, fingers wrapping around Felix’s hand. With a reassuring squeeze, Flayn spoke. “All that I wish to tell you, is that if there is _ anything _I can do to help you or help him, I will do it. If you require me to sneak out and pass him a letter, I will do it. I have faith in you, Felix, and faith in him.”

Leaning back, Flayn grinned. “Perhaps after all this time, your knight in shining armor has finally arrived.”

Felix let out a groan, burying his face in his hands. “I _ hate _it when you word shit like that,” he muttered, voice muffled.

“The _ knight in shining armor _ bit?” Flayn blinked innocuously. “Oh, I suppose that _ is _ incorrect, considering he did not have shining armor. Perhaps just calling him your knight will do.”

“You _ know _ what I fucking _ mean _!” Felix’s voice rose as Flayn burst into another round of laughter.

Arms folded across his chest tightly, Felix scoffed, watching through narrowed eyes as Flayn wiped away a tear of laughter, beginning to calm down. “Regardless, you will still have to tell me more, Felix. After all, I _ do _ remember you telling me about Sylvain many years ago, but I am still unsure of how he even arrived here—and got inside the tower, of all places!”

Shaking her hands enthusiastically, Flayn leaned forward. “Start from the beginning, please, and tell me _ everything _!”

Felix rubbed a hand against his forehead, letting out a sigh. Leaning back, his mind drifted to the first time he saw a certain orange-haired man at the foot of the tower, mistaking him for a pretty maiden.

“He first showed up a few months ago…”

* * *

The distant sound of voices arguing pulled Felix out of his slumber, letting out a groan as he opened his eyes.

Blearily, his eyes drifted around the room. Sunlight was filtering through the tiny window in the bedroom, casting the floor in a golden hue. Scattered around the room were pieces of clothing—Flayn’s clothing, Felix recognised, after a moment of blinking at it, his tired brain trying to put two and two together. Flayn must have woken up before he did.

Yawning, Felix began to get out of bed, before pausing, seated at the edge of his mattress.

He could still hear faint voices bickering with each other, slowly growing louder with each passing moment. The bedroom door was hanging ajar, allowing the sound of arguing to echo through the stairway leading upstairs.

Sliding out of bed, Felix changed quickly, before hurrying downstairs, swearing under his breath as he nearly tripped over his hair. There were only three occupants in the tower, and he had been asleep. _ Which means— _

Bursting into the living room, Felix stood, and stared.

Standing across from each other were Seteth and Flayn, the latter glaring daggers at her father, who stared at her coolly, an impassive expression on his face. Flayn’s draconic features were beginning to emerge, her slit eyes narrowing with irritation as scales crept up her neck and across her hands.

“I am telling you, Father,” Flayn snapped, bristling. “You cannot be serious about doing this!”

Seteth shook his head. “For the last time, Flayn, I apologise, but it must be done.”

“Felix is going to be _ furious, _ Father!” The man in question jolted as he heard his name, watching as Flayn clenched her fists. It was unusual for her to get so openly angry, _ especially _towards her father. “Do you not care for his well-being?”

“I understand your concerns, but ultimately, this isn’t about how we feel. It’s about our safety.”

“You mean _ my _safety!” Flayn yelled, voice cracking. Seteth took a step back as Flayn jabbed a finger at him accusingly. “If you truly cared about Felix, you would not keep doing this to him!”

“That is _ enough _, Flayn!”

Flayn’s face twisted, anger flashing across her expression, a fire blazing in her eyes. She opened her mouth, ready to continue yelling at the man across from her, until her gaze flitted to the side, and she stopped, catching sight of Felix.

Her eyes widened, her jaw going slack, leaving her mouth agape. Felix watched as Seteth turned to face him as well, the older man’s eyes widening, arms dropping to his side at the sight of him standing at the foot of the staircase.

After some time, Seteth finally spoke, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them. “Felix. Good morning. Flayn and I were just discussing—”

“It sounded more like fighting,” Felix interrupted curtly. “You woke me up.”

Seteth shot him an apologetic look. “I apologise for the disruption. But perhaps it is a good thing that you woke when you did,” he added, a thin smile crossing his lips. “There is something we must discuss.”

“Flayn said something about my well-being.” Felix raised an eyebrow. “What did she mean, Seteth?”

“That—” Seteth broke off with a sigh, deflating. Giving Felix a firm stare, he said, “We’re leaving in a week.”

Felix’s heart _ dropped _.

He stared at Seteth in utter disbelief. He didn’t even notice the way his breathing grew ragged, or the way sweat began to drip down his face, frozen in shock. “...What?”

“It is no longer safe for us to remain here.” Seteth’s voice sounded faint—_ distant _, as though Felix was listening to him through a wall. The world around him felt strange—empty almost, like a painting or a picture, something unreal.

He watched through unfocused eyes as Seteth turned to give Flayn a look—which look, he wasn’t sure of, he didn’t know, he couldn’t quite tell. His voice was still distant as he spoke. “As such, for Flayn and your safety, we will be leaving for another place in a week’s time.”

Silence.

Felix stared at Seteth, stared at Flayn, stared at the room in complete, utter _ disbelief. _

His mouth moved.

“You’ve got to be fucking _ shitting _ me.”

“Felix—”

“No. _ No. _ ” Shaking his head, Felix stomped forward, grabbing hold of Seteth’s collar, and shaking him. Everything felt too much—whatever strange fogginess that had overcome him earlier had evaporated in mere seconds, replaced by the feeling of everything being too _ much. _ Hot rage coursed through his veins as he gritted his teeth, glaring at Seteth right in the eyes. “Don’t you fucking _ dare Felix _me again.”

Letting go, Felix took a step back, then another. Clenching his fists, he shook his head. “Ten years. Ten _ fucking _ years being stuck in a _ goddess-damned _ tower, and now we’re leaving again? For _ another _one?”

“I—”

“Why?” He cut through Seteth, barely allowing the older man to utter another word. “_ Why _ are we leaving for a third fucking time?” Turning around, Felix began to pace around the room, glaring at Seteth all the while. “From one tower, to this one, and then probably a _ third _ next, considering how much you fucking _ hate _the thought of me escaping to land and running the fuck away from you.”

Stomping his foot down, Felix whirled around to face Seteth, gritting his teeth. “So tell me Seteth. _ Why _ are we leaving _ again?” _

Seteth stared down at him, eyes narrowed into slits. Somewhere in the midst of Felix’s breakdown, he had seemingly begun to lose grip on his anger. Despite his impassive expression, the only thing betraying his frustration being his eyes, parts of Seteth’s body had begun to shift back into the draconic features that only ever appeared whenever he lost his temper.

Exhaling, Seteth began to speak, voice straining to stay calm. “There have been rumours.”

Felix _ laughed. _

As Flayn and Seteth stared at him with bewildered looks, he began to collapse into a fit of nervous laughter, shaking his head. “Rumours?” he gasped, voice brimming with anger. “Oh, you mean the _ shit _ that people keep saying about me? Oh, a poor _ damsel, _ stuck in a tower guarded by bloodthirsty _ dragons. THOSE RUMOURS _?”

Felix _ screamed. _ “They’ve existed for _ years, _ Seteth. _ YEARS! _”

“_ No, _ ” Seteth snapped, baring his fangs. No longer was he trying to hide the anger brimming beneath his usual calm exterior. His voice was frustrated, _ irritated, _snarling as he spoke. “Not those rumours.”

With a deep breath, Seteth kept his voice stern, irritation seeping into his words. “There have been new rumours occurring as of late. They have been getting closer and closer to home. People are beginning to believe that you are not a woman trapped in a tower. They believe that the tower is not at a volcano, but in the woods. They believe that one of the dragons is not bloodthirsty. _ It is. No longer safe. For us to stay.” _

“Who—who the _ fuck _ is listening to those rumours?” Felix barked, nostrils flaring. “It’s been nearly ten years living _ here, _ and nobody’s crashed this place trying to find a fucking damsel in distress. So tell me Seteth— _ why _are we leaving—?”

“That. Is. _ ENOUGH! _”

Seteth’s thunderous voice boomed through the room, causing the floor to shake. Felix stumbled backwards, letting out a yelp as he crashed against the ground, groaning as his head spun. Distantly, he could hear Flayn yelling as well, another faint _ thud _ signifying that he wasn’t the only one to topple at Seteth’s rare bout of _ rage. _

Felix stared at Seteth, frozen in place.

Seteth took a deep breath, exhaling. All the fury had faded from his face, leaving him with an apologetic stare as he walked over to Flayn, helping her up from the ground.

Flayn raced over to Felix as soon as she was back on her own two feet. Stretching out a hand, Felix took it, letting Flayn help pull him up from the ground with a grunt.

He could feel Seteth’s eyes boring into him as he stood up. Felix suppressed a shudder. All the adrenaline had disappeared as soon as he fell back onto the ground, vanishing with Seteth’s sudden anger.

Finally, after a long silence, Seteth spoke. “This is my decision, Felix, and that’s that.”

Felix’s shoulders dropped. Giving Seteth a tired stare, he asked, “Why are you so scared of a bunch of stupid rumours?”

Seteth was quiet.

Flayn coughed loudly. “Father. You at least owe it to Felix to explain the situation to him.” She shook her head. “Even if I don’t agree with the notion of leaving once again… If you refuse to change your mind on the matter at hand, you should at least tell Felix _ why _.”

With a weary sigh, Seteth finally relented.

“It’s not just rumours anymore, Felix. I’ve found several people attempting to find this place.”

Felix stiffened.

“Yesterday, when I told Flayn to come back first without me, there were two reasons for it.” Seteth folded his arms. “Firstly, I was talking to the townspeople about the rumours. I wished to confirm my suspicions about the things I heard with each visit we made to the town. Secondly, I found several different men trying to traverse the forest.”

“_ What did you do. _”

Seteth hesitated, before a steely look overcame his face. Fixing Felix with a stern stare, he said, “I did what I had to do.”

He stared at Seteth, speechless.

The implications of Seteth’s words were there, even if he kept his phrasing deliberately vague. Which meant—

_ NononononononononoNONO— _

With a blood curdling _ screech, _Felix whipped around, storming to the staircase, barely hearing Flayn shouting out after him. Stomping up the wooden steps, he burst into the bedroom, fury surging through every inch of his body.

As he sank to the floor, his hands found their way through his hair, fingers curling around a large chunk of navy hair before he _ pulled _—

“_ Felix! _” Flayn’s voice filled the room as she burst through the doorway, eyes frantic. Crashing to her knees, her hands gripped his wrist, forcing his hands away from his hair. She stared wide-eyed at the ragged chunks of torn hair in Felix’s fists, eyes flicking up to stare at him.

Muttering a rare curse under her breath, Flayn tilted her head, glancing over her shoulder as she waved a hand in the air. The door slammed shut with a gust of wind, the key floating through the air to lock the door with a resounding _ click. _

The key dropped to the floor, forgotten. Flayn’s shoulders sagged, her hand dropping to her side. “Oh, Felix,” she whispered. “I am so, _ so _ sorry.”

“S’not your fault.” But even as he said it, his words felt distant. Whatever rage had burnt within him earlier had dissipated, leaving an empty, hollow void in its wake. Grip loosening, Felix watched silently as the long strands of hair he had torn off fell to the floor, scattered around him.

His scalp _ ached, _throbbing with a burning pain where he had pulled.

He watched as Flayn’s face crumpled, ever so slightly. “I truly did try my best to change his mind, but he’s—” She averted her gaze. “He refuses to budge on the matter.”

Felix let out a choked laugh, voice shaky. “I don’t know _ what _I was fucking expecting.”

“Felix…” Flayn’s voice was soft—pitying, almost—before her eyes hardened. She shook her head, rising to her feet. “No. It is not the time to grieve. There is still a chance for you to escape.”

“_ How? _ ” His voice _ broke. _“Sylvain—”

Realisation lit up in Flayn’s eyes. The reason why Felix stormed out of the room in another fit of rage, the reason he tore out his hair and fell to the floor, losing control of his usually guarded emotions. “But Sylvain can’t have been one of the people Seteth was talking about!”

Raising his head, Felix stared at Flayn, furiously blinking as she continued. “My father returned home shortly after I teleported Sylvain away. There was no chance of him being one of the men that were found in the forest.”

There was a tension in Felix’s shoulders, a tension that he didn’t even realise he was holding until his shoulders loosened and he sagged, the fleeting feeling of relief surging through him before it vanished, shoved down by the feeling of empty hopelessness. “We’re still leaving in a week.”

“I… I can get a message to Sylvain, Felix.” Flayn’s expression was brimming with hope, as she knelt down to grab his hands, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “There is still a chance!”

“And then what?”

Flayn faltered, grip loosening. “I…”

“What’s the fucking _ point? _ ” The words he spat were poisonous, _ toxic _ , leaving a putrid taste on his tongue. Flayn flinched as Felix pulled back, barely bothering to hide his wet eyes as he continued, voice filled with anger and _ anguish. _ “I’m just going to be stuck here for the rest of my _ fucking _life—”

“That is not true!”

“You can say that, but face it, Flayn. Your _ father _ —” he _ spat, _the familial title dripping with venom, “—isn’t going to let me leave. Ever.”

Silence.

Felix’s breathing was ragged. Staring at the floor, he pointedly avoided looking at Flayn, the tiniest bit of guilt nagging at him for speaking of her father so cruelly. Even if they had their differences, and even if Flayn didn’t agree with him on his decisions, she was still very close to Seteth.

He exhaled. The surge of adrenaline that had ignited his fury and rage had faded out, leaving him with an empty feeling once again. Distantly, he heard footsteps against the ground—Flayn’s footsteps, he realised she must have gotten up at some point—and the sound of the bed creaking.

“I thought I had a chance.” Raising his head, Felix gave Flayn a weary look. The green-haired girl had sat down on the edge of the bed, face neutral as she stared at him. “When Sylvain showed up,” Felix continued, voice hushed. “He kept telling me he had a plan. That he’d get me out.”

With a bitter, hollow laugh, Felix pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. “It was pointless to hope.”

“You may say that, but there is still time.”

“Let’s face it, Flayn. If you go tell Sylvain about this, what will he do?” The possibilities, all the hypotheticals running through his head were _ endless _, ending in disaster one way or another. “Come up with a shoddy escape plan on a whim that won’t work? Or better yet, follow us across the fucking continent over and over in the years to come?”

Felix pressed his forehead against his knees, closing his eyes.

He was just so _ tired. _

“I just want it to stop. I’m tired, Flayn.”

He couldn’t see Flayn’s face, but he heard her reply.

“I know, Felix.” Her voice was calm, laced with pity and sadness. “I know.”

* * *

The week flew by in a haze of sleep and sadness.

Felix barely left the bedroom since his confrontation with Seteth, content to just wake up and lie in bed, staring at the wall dully.

It was simple. He hit his breaking point, after years and years of silently bottling up his rage and fury and _sadness, _occasionally letting his anger get the better of him during his few arguments with Seteth. But never had the bottle of emotions he kept to himself—bottled up tightly and stowed away where nobody could find it—been smashed to smithereens like it had with that one, final fight.

And now he was exhausted and tired, a constant ache buried in the depths of his bones and muscles. He didn’t want to leave the room, didn’t want to risk the chance of running into Seteth. Not while he was stewing in a pit of depression and lingering rage.

If Flayn hadn’t brought him food and dragged him to the bathroom each day, Felix wouldn’t have bothered taking care of himself at all.

Flayn spoke to him—about anything and everything, chattering about random topics whenever she visited him. Her voice and her presence was a welcome distraction from the bittersweet memories and _ what-if’s _that kept plaguing his thoughts since he finally broke down.

His replies were often short and stilted, voice cracking whenever he spoke, causing Flayn to pass him a glass of water, berating him for not taking care of himself as he sipped.

Felix avoided Seteth. The older man had knocked on the bedroom door once, asking to talk to him, but Felix ignored him, eventually letting out a sigh of relief when he heard retreating footsteps.

He buried himself in his bed, cycling in and out of sleep and wakefulness, as the sun rose and set and rose again and again.

Until one night, he blearily cracked open his eyes, feeling someone shaking him awake.

Flayn stood at the side of the bed, pulling her arms back as soon as she saw Felix’s eyes open. The moonlight from the single, tiny window nestled in the stone walls of the bedroom casted a halo of pale light around her head, illuminating her face. “Ah—good! You are finally awake.”

Felix squinted, head spinning as he pushed himself up with his arms, scrambling into a sitting position. Blinking away sleep, he shot her a questioning stare. “Flayn, what—”

“_ Shh! _” Pressing a finger to her lips, Flayn shushed him, a serious expression crossing her face. “Keep your voice down!” Bending down, the girl scooped up a pile of clothes, dumping them unceremoniously in Felix’s lap. “Now hurry—get changed as quickly as you can!”

Flayn hurried off before Felix could reply, carefully stepping across the floor so as to avoid making a sound. Felix stared after her, then glanced down at the clothes in his lap.

His heart began to race. _ Could it be? _

Eyes narrowing, Felix shook his head. _ No. It couldn’t. _

And yet, despite his pessimistic thoughts and hopeless feelings, Felix followed Flayn’s instructions, slipping out of bed as quietly as he could. Within moments, his bed clothes had been tossed onto the mattress, tangled in the bed sheets.

Flayn turned around, holding a thick cloak in her hands. Quietly, she crept back next to him, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “You should wear this,” she said, holding the cloak out to him. “It _ is _rather chilly tonight.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, but took the piece of clothing anyways, throwing it around his shoulders and fastening the clasp. He fixed Flayn with a questioning look. “Flayn. What are you doing.”

Flayn simply grinned at him. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for him to follow her through the open bedroom door. Pressing her finger to her lips again, she began to slowly make her way down the staircase, footsteps slow and steady in order to prevent the staircase from creaking.

Step-by-step, the duo crept their way down the winding staircase. There was nary a sound, utter silence covering them as they avoided the shabby corners of the wooden steps. Felix could see Flayn’s head bobbing in front of him, her green hair unwound and an utter mess, nothing like the smooth curls she groomed her hair into at the crack of dawn each morning.

As Flayn reached the foot of the staircase, Felix lingering behind her, he felt her warm hand wrap around his own. With a reassuring smile, Flayn pulled him along, walking towards…

The window.

Felix’s heart skipped a beat.

Silk curtains were draped across the open window, offering the barest amount of protection against the chilly nights of autumn. As Flayn let go of Felix’s hand, leaving him standing there, staring at the covered window with wide eyes, she knelt on the window seat, and pulled aside the curtains.

He had a suspicion—or rather, the slightest bit of hope—that perhaps there was something more to Flayn waking him than he let himself believe. Even as he tried to bury his feelings, tried to snuff out the smallest inkling of hope within him, the feeling persisted, a persistent thought that grew louder and louder the closer Flayn led him to the window.

And his gut feeling was right.

Outside the window, cast in the silvery light of the waxing gibbous moon, was one Sylvain Jose Gautier, flashing him a grin as he bobbed up and down. Taking a step forward, and then another, Felix collapsed onto the window seat, kneeling on the cushioned chair as he stared outside.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

Sylvain had a _ wyvern _.

The draconic creature was flapping its wings slowly, crooning slightly as Sylvain reached down to scratch below its chin. Felix watched in stunned silence, mouth gaping, as Sylvain’s head dipped down, whispering something to the wyvern before slowly coaxing it closer to the window.

The orange-haired man glanced up, one hand reaching out to grab the windowsill, the other still grasping the reins of the wyvern. “Hey Felix,” he said, voice warm and soft and igniting a fire that had dimmed within Felix’s chest. He let out a small laugh, the sound like melody to Felix’s ears. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Felix stared at Sylvain, stared at the wyvern he was riding, before turning to face a smiling Flayn. “You—”

“I had to attempt doing _ something _about the situation, after all.” Flayn nodded at Sylvain, who gave her a thumbs-up. “After all,” she continued, “it was not as if you were about to do anything about your situation. Not with how you reacted after that argument with Seteth.”

Felix spun around, still staring wide-eyed at Sylvain. It almost felt like a dream. _ Almost. _If it weren’t for Sylvain’s hand reaching out to intertwine with his own, as warm as he remembered, Felix would have sworn that he was dreaming of a foolish escape.

There were so many things he wanted to say to Sylvain. But the only thing he could say was, “You have a wyvern.”

He noticed the way that the corner of Sylvain’s lips creased as he smiled, pulling his hand back to stroke his wyvern’s neck. “I do.”

Flayn coughed, causing both men to turn towards her. Despite the smile on her face, her eyes were darting towards the wooden door of the study, closed tightly at this time of the night. “I do not mean to interrupt your reunion,” she said slowly, voice hushed, “but you two must leave now.”

Though Sylvain looked slightly confused as to why Flayn was glancing over to the study, Felix understood, nodding at Flayn. Before he could stand up though, Flayn’s eyes lit up, and she rushed over to Felix’s side. “Ah—hold on, I almost forgot!”

Felix watched as Flayn unravelled the white ribbon tied around her wrist—something he hadn’t noticed before. Wrapping her hands around the bottom of his neck, she scooped up his dark hair, before looping the ribbon around to form a long ponytail.

Taking a step back, Flayn grinned. “There. That should keep the hair out of your eyes.” Hands on her hips, she gave the duo a firm nod. “Now go—do not waste whatever precious time you have to escape!”

He wished he could say something to Flayn, he thought, as he got to his feet, standing precariously on the soft cushioned window seat. But Flayn was ushering him away with a determined look in her eyes, any trace of sadness absent from her face.

As Sylvain stretched out one hand again, Felix tilted his head, giving Flayn the faintest hint of a smile, voice soft. “Thank you, Flayn.”

He heard a small gasp from behind him as he turned back to the window, forcing himself to avoid glancing over his shoulder to catch one last look at the girl he had come to consider a friend, over the years.

Taking a deep breath, Felix took Sylvain’s hand, squeezing it tightly, as he stepped up onto the windowsill.

His other hand wrapped tightly around one side of the open window as he balanced precariously on the edge. His heart hammered against his chest as he caught a glimpse of the steep drop below, suddenly so much more threateningly and deadly and _ high _now that he was teetering on the edge of the windowsill.

“Hey.” Sylvain’s voice broke through the haze of panic that had begun to cloud his mind. “Look at me.”

Tearing his gaze away from the ground far below, Felix focused on Sylvain instead, who was giving him a reassuring smile, rubbing his thumb against the back of Felix’s hand. “Just step onto the back of the saddle, one step at a time.”

Felix let out a shaky breath as he forced himself to take one step forward, resting his boot-covered foot on the back of the wide saddle that stretched across the wyvern’s back. With another step, he was balancing precariously on the back of the wyvern, fingers holding Sylvain’s hand in a death grip.

Sylvain nodded encouragingly. “Good. Now I need you to let go.”

Felix stiffened, fingers curling around the edge of the window tighter. “_ Excuse me—? _”

“Trust me, Felix.” Sylvain’s eyes were serious, burning with determination. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall. I promise.”

His grip loosened.

Biting his lips, Felix shut his eyes tightly, muttering a curse under his breath, and then he let go.

Before he could topple towards the ground, he felt another hand grip around his wrist, pulling him forward. Felix dared to squint open his eyes as Sylvain pulled him onto the back of the wyvern, holding him in place as he swayed precariously.

With Sylvain’s help, Felix slowly bent down, boots slipping into the stirrups as he settled in place. As soon as he was certain that he wasn’t going to fall, Felix pulled away from Sylvain’s hold, allowing the other man to turn back around and face the front.

Sylvain’s hands wrapped around the reins, pulling them tightly. “Hold on tight,” he warned, though his tone was lighthearted.

As Felix leaned forward to wrap his arms around Sylvain’s back, eyes flitting from side to side as he basked in his surroundings. The chilly air of the autumn night was a contrast to the warmth he felt pressed up against Sylvain’s back, suppressing a shudder as Sylvain pulled back the reins, leaning forward.

With a massive burst of speed, the wyvern took off into the skies, brown wings flapping as they grew higher and higher. Glancing over his shoulders, Felix caught sight of the tower in the clearing, growing smaller and smaller the further they flew, until it was nothing more than the side of one of Flayn’s old figurines, only half the length of her palm.

Turning back, Felix closed his eyes, leaning forward. If his grip around Sylvain’s chest happened to grow a little tighter than before, the other man didn’t call him out on it.

* * *

The whooshing sound of wings flapping through the air was the only thing breaking the silence of nighttime.

The entire situation felt peaceful—almost _ too _peaceful, like the strange haze of unreality found in dreams. The escape went off without a hitch, they hadn’t been caught, and now, Felix was out on a wyvern’s back, clinging to Sylvain tightly, his tied hair whipping in the wind.

It almost didn’t feel real.

Finally, he opened his mouth, voice shattering the silence. “Were you planning this all along?”

He felt Sylvain tense, going rigid in his arms. And then he relaxed, letting out a throaty laugh. “You got me there,” he replied, voice airy. “How’d you figure it out?”

Felix shrugged. “It’s not like you’d be able to pull all _ this _together in—what, a week?”

Sylvain nodded. “You’re right. After all, wyverns aren’t exactly cheap.”

“So that means—” Felix trailed off into silence as Sylvain pulled the reins, directing the wyvern to fly downwards. His hands were uncovered, bare skin littered with scars. When Sylvain let go of the reins to lean forward and give the wyvern a scratch beneath the chin, murmuring praises in a hushed voice, Felix caught sight of his calloused hand, familiar red lashes criss-crossing over his palm—some faded, some new.

_ The rope burns.  
_

Something clicked together in his mind.

“The gloves,” Felix breathed, eyes fixed on Sylvain’s rope-burnt hand as he pulled his arm back. Sylvain startled, jerking backwards and nearly dropping the reins.

“You _ remember that? _”

“Of course I do, idiot!” Felix barked, as Sylvain glanced over his shoulders to give him a wide-eyed look. With a roll of his eyes, he muttered, “Honestly. I told you to get gloves.” With one arm, Felix reached out and pulled one of Sylvain’s hands from the reins, stroking his thumb across the scarred palm. “Look at this. It’s like you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Well, maybe I’ll let you take care of me instead. How about that?”

He froze, thumb hovering above the palm of Sylvain’s hand.

_ What? _

Pulling his arm away, Felix leaned forward, burying his burning face in Sylvain’s back, voice muffled as he said—with feeling—“Shut up.”

They sunk back into silence, save for the sound of wings flapping in the air. Felix fidgeted, before pulling his head back with a sigh. There was still one more thing he wanted to ask.

“I’m assuming Flayn told you about this mess.”

“She showed up at the inn I was staying in a couple of days ago. Told me about the entire thing.” Sylvain’s voice was calm, his tone neutral, and Felix couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was feigned for his sake. Especially if Flayn told him about _ that _argument.

“She really cares about you, y’know?” Sylvain added, after a moment’s pause.

He thought of Flayn, with her green eyes and curly hair, smiling at him day after day, no matter how grouchy or irritated or upset he was. He thought of his last memory of her, feeling her hands pull his hair into a ponytail, hearing her gasp when he turned around to step onto the windowsill and leave.

Felix closed his eyes, voice quiet. “I know.”

If Sylvain heard his voice quiver just the tiniest bit, he didn’t comment. Nor did he press any further and question him about Flayn. Rather, Sylvain returned to his explanation, after a momentary pause. “I had to rush my plan a _ little _bit. Originally, I was hoping to get you out by winter—y’know, maybe when the dragons would’ve been hibernating or something.”

“They don’t _ hibernate _, but…” His thoughts drifted back to the cold, biting winters he shared in the tower, huddling under thick clothes and blankets for warmth. He thought of Flayn, of how much sleepier she was, rising later and sleeping earlier than she usually would. There were occasions where she even managed to wake up later than Felix did.

Eventually, he just yawned, and said, “Your plan wasn’t half-bad.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you!”

Whatever sharp retort Felix had planned died in his mouth as he yawned. _ Again. _

“...You can sleep, y’know? It _ is _ late.” There was a fondness in Sylvain’s voice, intertwined with the faintest hint of what Felix could only assume was concern. For some goddess-forsaken reason, Sylvain was growing concerned for him over a _ yawn.  
_

“Shut up,” Felix mumbled, no real bite to his voice as he choked back another yawn. “I’m not tired.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Sylvain said, in that obvious, knowing tone that made it clear he didn’t believe Felix in the slightest. “But really though. Just take a rest. I’ll wake you when we’re close, I promise.”

“I told you, I’m not fucking tired.”

Sylvain didn’t reply, simply glancing back to give him a smile, his hazel eyes glimmering with warmth and affection.

Sylvain was right though. Within a few moments of silence, Felix’s eyelids drooped, and he slumped forward, burying his face in Sylvain’s back, cheeks pressed against the soft fabric covering the other man’s back. Closing his eyes, Felix dozed off, drifting into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the white noise of the wyvern’s beating wings.

He _ jolted _ awake at the sound of a faint, guttural _ roar. _

The flapping of wings was louder—much, _ much _louder, nothing like the peaceful white noise he had dozed off to earlier. No, this new noise was positively deafening, the sound stirring some ancient memories in the depths of his brain.

(There was a memory he remembered well, holding onto it with a deathgrip and refusing to let go. It was a memory that was a decade old, the ghostly feeling of sharp scales and a huge claw lifting him off into the air, the sound of rushing wind and the thunderous flapping of huge, scaly wings muffling his screams.)

His grip on the front of Sylvain’s shirt tightened, knuckles turning white. “_ Fuck. _”

Distantly, he registered Sylvain confusedly shouting a question—barely audible in the cacophony of thrashing wings and monstrous screeching that grew louder and louder with each passing moment. He felt his breathing stilt, his heart palpitating and beating faster and faster and _ faster _—

“Seteth,” Felix choked out, the words jamming into the back of his throat, leaving him with a rancid, _ awful _ taste in the back of his neck, a lump he couldn’t quite swallow in the midst of panic and fear and pure, mortal _ dread. _From the way that Sylvain’s entire body froze up, stiff like a sculpture, he knew that Sylvain had heard what he said.

His mouth opened—

And then there was a burst of bright green light, blazing the midst of the dark night sky—so bright that he could see it coming from behind. The sensation of _ heat _ and _ thrumming, ancient energy _blasted through the sky like an ocean’s wave, knocking the wyvern to a side with a thin wail—

Except Sylvain had grabbed the wyvern’s reins, yanking it as far back as he could, forcing the wyvern to swerve around sharply with a jerk to the side. Felix barely had any time, any time at _ all _, to react before they were face-first with a ball of blazing green light, energy pulsating, emerging from the gaping jaws of a massive, ancient dragon hovering above them.

And then it _ struck. _

White hot pain coursed through his entire body as burning magic engulfed them, causing Felix to _ scream, _ voice high and shrill and _ pained— _

And then they were falling—freefalling, the wyvern motionless, _ Sylvain _motionless—until the ground rose up to meet them, and they crashed into the grass below.

His arms, his legs—his entire _ body _ —burned and creaked and _ screamed _ in agony, each twitching muscle and fractured bone stabbing with pain, _ pain _ — _ so much pain _ —whenever he curled his fingers or moved a limb, struggling to push himself up and _ out _from the wreck that surrounded him.

His ears were ringing, and there was the faintest taste of iron at the back of his mouth, foul and utterly disgusting to his tongue.

Groaning, he dragged himself out of the saddle, feet scrambling to kick away the stirrups and land on the muddy, uneven grass below. Felix stumbled, staggering forward, shaky knees giving way as he collapsed onto the ground, barely managing to hold himself up with his burnt and bruised arms.

His neck creaked and groaned as he tilted his head backwards, letting out a shaky gasp as he sucked in a large gulp of air. His chest _ burned. _

Head dropping, he caught a flash of orange at the corner of his eyes, and his ragged breathing _ hitched. _

“Sylvain,” he choked out, scrambling to his feet. Staggering over to the familiar body draped over the unmoving wyvern, Felix collapsed to his knees, hands covering his mouth. “_ Sylvain— _”

_ Nononononono—please no. Goddess, _ please _ no. _

There was a prayer, a mantra, repeating over and over in his head as he reached out for the body, for _ Sylvain, _with shaking hands. He—

Felix let out a strangled sob. “You fucking _ idiot. _”

Sylvain took the hit for him, swerving around at the last moment, before the massive ball of crackling energy had smashed right into Felix’s back. Now, his entire body was covered with darkening bruises of _ purpleyellowblueblack _and his skin was charred, burnt and broken, blood and pus seeping from his wounds.

Felix pressed his hands against the side of Sylvain’s neck, sagging to the ground with a cry of relief as soon as he felt a pulse—slower, fainter, but still a _ pulse _—thrumming within his veins.

Whatever relief coursed through him was short-lived, however.

Because the deafening sound of flapping wings and growling had signified a certain dragon’s arrival.

Felix’s head lifted to the sky, staring at the sight of the massive, draconic beast crashing to the ground nearby, dirt and rocks flying everywhere with the impact of the landing. With a flash of green light, the monster had disappeared, leaving a human figure standing in its place.

_ Seteth. _Standing where the monster had vanished in a blast of ancient magic, head glancing around until he caught sight of Felix, crouched next to Sylvain and his wyvern.

Felix rose to his feet, swaying slightly, as Seteth began to walk forward.

There had come a point in life, where one could say that someone had enough. Human beings had their breaking points, after all, different for each and every one of them. And while Felix had assumed that he had hit his a week prior, sinking into a bottomless pit of depression and hopelessness and _ despair, _he actually hadn’t.

Seteth stopped as Felix moved forward, standing between the draconic man and the injured figures behind him. His hair swayed in the breeze, let loose once more, the ribbon Flayn used to tie up his hair having vanished somewhere in the chaos of fire, fury, and injuries.

“Felix.” Seteth spoke first. His voice was strained, struggling to maintain his usual calm composure. Why he still bothered to stick with that, Felix didn’t know.

_ If he’s pissed enough to blast us out of the sky, then what’s the fucking point?  
_

Felix seethed in silence, remaining where he was, hands clenched by his side as he stared at Seteth with narrowed eyes. Across from him, Seteth had walked closer, each step he took fuelling the burning fire of fury that burned within Felix.

Seteth’s eyes were slits, scales creeping up the sides of his neck. An indication that despite his facade, he was not as calm as he wanted to be. With a warning tone, he continued to speak. “You have crossed the line for the last time.”

It wasn’t as if Felix _ wasn’t _ terrified. This was a figure he had lived with for years, perpetually trapped in an endless loop of angering him and panicking whenever his calmness made way for a sudden bout of rage. He knew just how _ terrifying _Seteth could be when he was mad. It was why he stepped around on eggshells, why he always backed off whenever arguments got to a head, why he kept pushing and pushing but never breaking the strained peace beyond repair.

Even now, as he stood in front of Sylvain and the wyvern, blocking them off from the dragon’s approach, he still shook. His heart still hammered in his chest, his breathing still went wild, a chill still ran down his spine. But the difference now was that he couldn’t afford to step back and let it go anymore.

_ Not with what he did. Not with what he’ll _ do _ . _

Tilting his head upwards, Felix replied coolly, “So I have.”

Seteth _ bristled, _green hair flying up as scales continued to creep across his skin. “Your impudence is infuriating,” he said, gritting his teeth. “And yet, the thought never crossed my mind that you would finally succeed in escaping.”

He saw the way Seteth’s slit-eyed gaze flicked to one side, staring past his shoulder at the scene behind him. “Though I suppose your explosive reaction to the prospect of me harming the strangers who dared trespass in the forest makes much more sense now, what’s with your… accomplice.”

“You stay the _ fuck _away from him!” Felix screamed, voice cracking, throat tight.

“I _ CANNOT_!” Seteth’s voice rose, beginning to echo and thunder, sounding less human, and more inhumane. Claws broke through his hands, curling into his palm. “You have gone too far this time, Felix. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Do you know what _ you’ve _ done?” Felix snarled, gesturing to the figures lying behind him, curled up on the floor. The wyvern, its brown pelt singed black, a murky blood seeping from deep cuts and bubbling wounds. Sylvain, collapsed on its back, face-down, bruises and burns and blood covering his arms and legs, his clothing torn and burnt to shreds, leaving nasty wounds that were sure to scar behind. Felix could feel tears well up in his eyes, and he blinked them away. “He’s fucking _ dying, _ Seteth,” Felix bit out, pointing a shaking finger at the man across from him. “Because of _ YOU.” _

“_I DID WHAT I HAD TO_,” Seteth roared, voice garbled and distorted and _ wrong _ —more beast than man, more dragon than human, foreign and dangerous and utterly _ terrifying. _ “_HE WAS A THREAT TO FLAYN’S SAFETY._”

“_HOW?_” His mind raced through all his memories of Sylvain—who showed up time and time again, innovating and finding new ways to talk to him, from their brief exchange of letters to the rope and the tower. He remembered the feeling of Sylvain’s embrace, holding him while he broke down for the first time, after years and years of lacking proper human warmth. He remembered the time they spent together, exchanging soft touches and kissing each other until Flayn returned home a little too early one day and everything went to utter _ shit. _

He thought of Sylvain, who pushed aside his distrust of Flayn to accept her word and hatch a plan to save him on her behalf, going through with his plan a few months in advance. Sylvain, who had swerved around on the wyvern, taking the brunt of the hit for him.

Sylvain, who was lying on a wyvern right now—not dead, but not quite alive either.

“_How— _ ” he repeated, voice low, tone covered with malice and disbelief and _ anger _ , “—was he a fucking _ THREAT?” _

“If he managed to get you away, if you returned to your home kingdom,” Seteth replied, fangs flaring as he pushed out every word stiffly, trying to mask his feral rage, “then Flayn would have been in danger. He knew of her, and of us.”

“_He wouldn’t DO THAT—” _

_ “How do you KNOW FOR SURE? _ ” Flinching, Felix took a step back, as the ground _ shook. _ The earth _ rumbled, _ cracking and crumbling apart, bit by bit. “ _ HOW DO YOU _ KNOW _ THAT HE WOULDN’T CAUSE FLAYN’S DEATH? CAUSE ANOTHER WAVE OF DRAGON SLAYERS TO COME AFTER HER? HOW DO YOU KNOW, FELIX? _”

“_BECAUSE I _ KNOW _ HIM!” _ Against the guttural, inhumane roars that came from Seteth, Felix’s pitched screaming felt pathetically weak, voice cracking as it rose. And yet, he persisted, stomping his foot down. “_AND HE WOULDN’T FUCKING DO THAT! _”

The ground shook and shook and _ shook. _Felix dropped to his knees, holding his hands against the thundering ground in an attempt to stabilise himself, glaring up at Seteth, who looked—

Monstrous.

And then he was not.

In a split moment, everything stopped. The rumbling earthquakes ceased, the energy crackling around in the air disappearing into nothingness.

Felix looked up at Seteth, who gazed down at him, expression utterly impassive. “Felix,” he said, voice much too weary and strained, brimming with an underlying madness that he held back with careful restraint. He shook his head. “You have gone too far this time.”

A chill ran down Felix’s spine. He froze as Seteth stared down at him, with an unreadable expression that threatened _ everything _and yet nothing at the same time.

And then the sound of flapping wings coursed through the air once more.

Raising his head to the sky, Felix’s eyes widened at the sight of _ another _dragon—smaller this time, smaller than Seteth, tiny wings beating as hard as it could—swerving down towards them. In a burst of bright, green light, a figure dropped from the sky in mid-air, landing on the ground between Seteth and Felix.

It was Flayn, who stood in front of Felix, her back to him, barely giving him a second glance as she approached her father. Seteth looked utterly bewildered, eyes wide and mouth agape at Flayn’s sudden, unexpected arrival.

“Father.” The lighthearted tone in Flayn’s voice, something that was so omnipresent with each time she spoke, was gone, replaced with something lower, darker, and more serious. “You have to stop.”

Seteth’s eyes looked over Flayn, taking a step back. “Flayn. Whatever are you doing here? I thought I told you to remain behind until I returned with Felix.”

“You will _ NOT _ be doing anything of the sort!” Flayn _ yelled, _startling both Seteth and Felix. Felix stared at Flayn’s back, his rage and anger fading off into confusion and unease.

Flayn shook her head, curls bobbing. “I am sick and tired, Father. I am _ sick _ and _ tired _ of you disregarding my worries about Felix under the excuse of me being much too young to understand what you are doing. Especially when I know perfectly well _ what _your intentions are!”

“Flayn…” Seteth was obviously fumbling, a strained smile crossing his lips as he raised his hands, hoping to try and placate his unusually furious daughter. “You know very well that everything I do is for the sake of your safety.”

“So locking Felix up in a tower for ten years over _ one _mistake is for my safety?”

Felix _ choked. _

Despite his hesitation, Seteth eventually nodded assent. “Yes. As much as you are opposed to it, I have explained to you many times before. It is for the best.”

“And I have told you many times before, your reasonings are illogical!” Flayn burst out, voice brimming with seething rage. Felix watched her step forward, watched her arm move, jabbing a finger at Seteth’s chest. “You fear of soldiers and bandits chasing after us to flay our skins, but you take me into town every two weeks to interact with these very same beings regardless!”

“I—” Seteth spluttered, at a loss for words. “T—That’s different,” he eventually said weakly.

“Oh? Is that so? Then explain to me how.”

“We disguise ourselves whenever we travel into town.” Seteth was _ sweating, _his arms shaking as he waved a hand through the air while he spoke. “It is not feasible to maintain that disguise for a long period of time.”

“You’re missing my point!” Her voice rose again, blazing with rage. “It does not matter whether or not we disguise ourselves, or how long our glamours can last for. The matter still stands that you, Father—” Seteth _ flinched, _“—are being a hypocrite!”

“Even so, can you truly condemn me when everything I have done has been for your sake?” Seteth’s voice _ shook, _ calm facade cracking, making way for something… sadder. Something more pitiful, something that came from a genuine love that he held for Flayn, despite his warped intentions, inability to listen to her, and knack for making poor life’s decisions. Seteth dipped his head, avoiding Flayn’s eyes. “I do not want to lose you, Flayn—no, I _ cannot _loose you. I simply can’t.”

“This isn’t even about my safety anymore!” And yet, Flayn’s voice _ still _ rose, shocking not only Seteth—whose head whipped up, eyes glinting with wetness—but also _ Felix, _ who stared at Flayn’s back in utter disbelief, that she would continue to hold on to her rage despite her father’s breakdown.

Flayn clenched her fists. “If you were using your head, you would have realised an eternity ago that there would not be any true harm in letting Felix leave! People will not chase us, not after he’s been gone for ten long years. They will simply be happy to have Felix back. We can go into hiding, the two of us, but there simply is no point in dragging Felix along with us year after year until the day he grows old and die.

Flayn paused, taking a deep breath, before letting out a heavy sigh. “The only reason _ why _you keep doing it, is not because of your fear for my safety, as much as you try to lie to yourself about it.”

“Flayn—”

She held up a hand, shushing Seteth. “Let me finish, Father. No, your actions have always come from a darker part of you. It is something that I believe you yourself were never even aware about.”

Tilting her head back, Flayn glanced over her shoulders at Felix. Her eyes were determined, and her expression was firm. She gave him a nod, before turning back to face, Seteth.

Neither of them could possibly predict what she said next.

“I am tired of watching you do this to Felix.” Flayn’s voice was weary, exhausted after ten years of watching the situation spin in constant circles. “I am tired of watching you take your revenge on him for what he did to me years ago. If you truly had any desire for me to be safe and happy, then you would let him go.”

Seteth’s jaw _ dropped. _

Utterly speechless, his mouth opened, then shut, then opened and closed again without a single word. A dozen emotions ran rampant through his green eyes—fury, rage, shock, sadness, realisation—the list went on and on.

Leaving Seteth alone, Flayn turned on her heels, walking over to Felix with a small smile on her face. “Hello, Felix. It seems that we meet again.”

Felix stared at her, before his eyes widened. Whirling back around, he rushed over to Sylvain and the wyvern, pressing his hand frantically against his neck to check if his pulse—slower now, much slower but still _ beating— _was still there.

Raising his head, he stared at Flayn, who was staring at the scene, eyes wide, covering her mouth in shock. “Flayn,” he bit out, forcing down his pride one last time because he couldn’t, he _ couldn’t _ solve this situation on his own. “ _ Please. _”

Flayn rushed over to the other side, hands roaming over the wyvern’s body before brushing across Sylvain’s arms, face contorting at the sight of his horrific injuries. “Oh, _ goddess, _” she breathed, voice shaking. “Of course I will, Felix. I cannot stand by for this.”

Rising to her feet, Flayn took a step back, motioning for Felix to do the same. Reluctantly, Felix walked backward, hugging his arms tightly as he watched Flayn do her magic.

Flayn’s magic was feral, for the most case. Her control over the elements were flimsy at best for most of them, save for wind, which she held a much stronger control over. Her ability to teleport herself and other people, warping and rescuing other beings, assisting people with her magic, was subpar too, uncontrollable and _ wild _in her hands.

But she had one strength, one that Felix had known well, back before the very first tower he stayed in burned down, and he cried over the burns that had littered across his arms. Flayn had knelt next to him, gently shushing him as her hands smoothed over the expanse of burnt flesh across his arms, a glow surrounding her fingers as the raw and damaged skin began to smooth back into something _ normal, _his wounds disappearing as if they were never there to begin with.

The same, soothing magic swirled around Flayn’s fingertips as she concentrated, holding out her arms to cast the spell across Sylvain and the wyvern. The white magic got to work, knotting up flesh and patching up scars, dissipating darkening bruises and smoothing out burnt skin, leaving intact flesh in its place, as if the incident in the sky had never happened in the first place.

The blood that coated their bodies disappeared as well, evaporating into nothingness along with the pure magic. As the healing spell dissipated, Flayn turned to give Felix a firm nod. “Stand still, Felix.”

Before Felix could react, Flayn was concentrating once more, this time, directed at him instead. A soothing warmth coursed through him as he felt the pain from his burns and injuries—that he had gotten used to over time, far too focused on Seteth to focus on the agony coursing through his muscles and veins—begin to vanish.

Flayn grinned at him, a toothy fang that was _ much _too long to belong to a regular human poking out from her teeth. Walking over to him, she asked, “Does that feel better?”

Felix nodded, a thin smile stretching across his mouth as well. “Better than before.”

“Good!” Flayn beamed, eyes shining with relief. “I am extremely glad to hear that.”

Before Felix could open his mouth to reply, a faint cough from nearby caught both their attentions, causing the duo to turn.

Seteth stood a little ways off, averting his gaze. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and he folded his arms across his chest.

Irritation coursed through Felix. Resting a hand on his hip, he scoffed. “What now?”

Seteth startled, eyes flicking up to glance at Felix before shaking his head. “No,” he said, voice firm. “There’s nothing wrong. I just wanted to… apologise.”

Felix stared.

“Flayn spoke the truth,” Seteth explained, letting out a heavy sigh of disappointment. “She was correct when she said that perhaps my intentions in keeping you locked up were less than noble, although it wasn’t as though I was aware of my own intentions myself.”

With a deep breath, Seteth gave Felix a firm look, causing Felix to suppress a shudder. “I truly apologise for what I did, Felix.” His voice was genuine, apologetic and _ ashamed. _“I understand that my words cannot make up for my actions, nor will they ever be enough to make things right, but it is unfortunate that the situation had to escalate to this point for me to realise my wrongdoings.”

Felix bit back a sigh. He shrugged. “Look,” he began, feeling slightly awkward, completely out of his element. Just moments ago, he was raring to fight Seteth to the death in a spectacular screaming match, and now, Seteth was _ apologising _to him. “I can’t forgive you. Too much has been done for that to be possible.”

Averting his gaze, Felix swallowed nervously. “But I’ll accept your apology.”

He heard a small cheer from Flayn as Seteth gave him an uneasy smile, before turning towards Flayn. “We still must go, Flayn,” he said, voice morphing back into the stern yet caring father than Flayn knew and loved. “It is rather late, but we should be heading back to the tower to rest up before we leave.”

Flayn’s shoulders dropped, as Felix processed just _ what _he was hearing. Seteth glanced over at him, noticed the way he stood, slack-jawed, and nodded at him. “You’re free to leave. It would not be right of me to force you to stay anymore. Not after all that I did.”

He was free.

Felix was _ free. _

It was like an invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders, a burden that he didn’t even realise he had been lugging around for years, carrying it everywhere. Felix stared at the duo, before his head glanced to the side, staring at Sylvain, sleeping peacefully on the wyvern, injuries healed.

He was finally, fucking _ free. _

Felix let out a gasp, laughing shakily. He choked back a sob, squeezing his eyes shut as he hugged himself tightly.

After ten years, ten long _ fucking _years, stranded in that goddess-forsaken tower, he was no longer a prisoner, held captive in a tiny building with nobody but two dragons for company.

Footsteps against the muddy ground drew his attention. Felix blinked open his eyes, gazing at Flayn, whose expression was wistful. “I suppose this is goodbye then,” she said softly.

Felix exhaled, feeling a strange bout of sadness wash over him. Despite how much he detested the tower and the time he spent trapped there, there was one thing—or rather, person—he would miss. Flayn had acted as his only friend, and his source of company for the past several years, a shoulder for him to lean on, his harsh remarks and sharp insults never turning her away.

“I suppose it is,” he replied.

Flayn giggled at that, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “Then I suppose there is one more thing I wish to do.”

“Which is?”

“This.” Stepping forward, Flayn wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly as she pulled him into a warm embrace. Pulling away from the hug, Flayn gave him a bright smile, her hands squeezing Felix’s own tightly. “Goodbye, Felix,” she said, the faintest trace of longing in her voice.

Felix stood there, the strange, melancholic feeling of sadness still lingering within him as Flayn pulled her hands away. Folding his arms, he gave Flayn a smile—a real, genuine smile. “Goodbye, Flayn.”

He watched, arms folded, long hair blowing gently behind him as Flayn raced ahead to catch up with her father, her hand wrapping around Seteth’s own, the duo walking off into the distance. Only when they were far enough away did the two of them burst into their draconic forms with a blast of green light, springing up into the air and soaring away into the night sky.

He heard a loud yell and a grunt, the sound of something—or rather, someone—hitting the ground coming from behind him. Spinning around, Felix caught sight of Sylvain slumped against the muddy grass, groaning as he pushed himself up with his arms, shaking his head.

Felix’s heartbeat grew faster, thumping against his chest as he raced over to Sylvain. Crouching next to him, Sylvain gave him a dazed look, utterly confused. “What… happened? _ Ow! _”

Sylvain fell back against the ground, swearing under his breath as Felix smacked his hand against the other man’s chest—not too hard to truly harm, but hard enough for it to hurt. “You!” Felix spat, voice trembling as he smacked Sylvain’s head, “Are so fucking _ stupid! _”

“What did I _ do? _ ” Sylvain whined, rubbing his head, before he stopped. Felix watched as his hazel eyes flitted to the sleeping wyvern next to him, to Felix, his long hair loose rather than tied up, to the tattered clothes he himself was wearing.

Sylvain glanced back up at Felix, mouth opening and closing, until the only thing that came out was a single “Oh.”

Leaning forward, Felix hugged Sylvain tightly, burying his head in the crook of Sylvain’s neck. “If you ever, _ ever _ do that shit again—” 

“What, saving you?” Sylvain laughed, then bit back another cry of pain as Felix hit his back with a fist.

“You—You reckless, _ stupid _motherfucker—”

“Woah, _ hey _—”

“If you fucking do that again, I am going to kill you myself, I _ swear. _”

There was a quizzical look on Sylvain’s face when Felix pulled back from the hug, eyes distant. “How are you going to kill me if I’m already dead?”

Felix grinned. “Oh, I’ll find a way.”

“That’s… really ominous.” Sylvain blinked at him, before his mouth cracked into a grin. “Say, you look really nice with that smile on your face—”

“Shut up!”

“Make me—”

Anything else that Sylvain was about to utter was silenced with a single sweeping gesture, as Felix pressed his lips against Sylvain’s own, closing his eyes as Sylvain relaxed into the kiss, arms reaching out to pull him into another embrace.

* * *

Felix sat on a wooden log in the clearing, turning over the weapon in his hand.

The dagger he was holding was an ornate thing, worth a pretty penny if it were to be sold. Gold and jewels were etched into the hilt of the weapon, and the blade itself was etched in strange, sigils and symbols that he couldn’t decipher and didn’t care enough to ask Sylvain about.

Sylvain stood nearby, coaxing his wyvern—Heath, Sylvain had called him, telling Felix about his name as he scratched the animal beneath his chin—into eating some food. They had stopped in a forest clearing a while after taking off from the field, sunlight streaking through the leafy branches as the sun rose in the sky.

Felix stared at the dagger, watching the way the sunlight glinted off the metal blade and the golden hilt.

Footsteps sounded from behind him, causing him to lower his arm, turning around to glance up at a smiling Sylvain. Flopping down next to him, Sylvain yawned, stretching his arms and his back until his bones popped.

He gave Felix a curious look. “Do you need help with that?”

“No, I don’t. It’s just—” Felix broke off, still staring at the dagger in his hand. “It’s a lot, that’s all.”

Sylvain nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at Felix. “I get it. But hey, if you need my help, let me know. Or if you’d rather wait till we get to the nearest town—”

“I can do it,” Felix interjected, gripping the hilt of the dagger tightly in his hand.

Sylvain rose, giving him a firm nod. “Well I’ll go get ready to leave. Gotta make sure Heath’s all ready to fly off again. Hopefully he ate all the food this time.” Sighing dramatically, Sylvain sauntered back to his wyvern, who glanced up from the food he was picking at, only half-finished. “Why, oh _ why, _is my wyvern such a picky eater?”

Felix bit back a laugh as he heard Heath snap at Sylvain, the orange-haired man letting out a yelp as he jumped backwards to avoid the sharp fangs of his _ very _picky wyvern, irritated from a lack of his favourite food in the area. Lifting the dagger up in the air, he took a deep breath.

With his free hand, Felix held a large chunk of his hair back, holding it in place somewhere below the nape of his neck. With his other hand, he raised the dagger to the back of his neck, feeling the cold metal pressing lightly against his skin as he held it against his hair.

Taking a deep breath, Felix exhaled.

And then he swung.

In a single flash, the large clump of hair that had followed him for the past ten years of his life, growing and growing until it grazed against the floor, had been chopped off. Letting go of the cluster of hair, Felix glanced down at it as it fell to the grassy floor in a large heap of dark blue.

The feeling of cool air against his bare neck made him shudder. Dropping the ornate dagger onto the log, Felix reached up to rub a hand against the back of his neck, trying his best to rub away the chill.

And then he breathed.

His neck and his shoulders felt lighter—much, _ much _ lighter. The weight of his hair had bogged him down for years, and though his hair was not that thick, it still put a strain on his neck that he _ hated. _

But now that weight was gone, he noted, eyes wandering back to the large clump of hair curled up in a pile on the ground. He was left feeling looser, more relaxed, rolling his neck with a sigh.

“Wow.” Sylvain’s voice flooded through the clearing, causing Felix to turn his head towards the taller man. Sylvain was staring at the pile of hair on the floor. “That’s a lot of hair.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Felix muttered, ignoring the way his heart fluttered as Sylvain walked around the log to pull him to his feet. Grabbing the ornate dagger, Felix passed it back to Sylvain, who skipped ahead to tuck the dagger in the leather satchel he strapped against Heath’s back, fastened tightly so as to avoid opening in the middle of flight.

As soon as he had latched the bag, he turned towards Felix, eyelashes fluttering as he stretched out a hand. “May I help you board, my dear?”

“If you call me that again one more time, I’m taking back the dagger and stabbing your throat,” Felix deadpanned, his hand reaching out to take Sylvain’s own.

Sylvain let out a loud laugh as he helped Felix settle into Heath’s saddle, before sliding in front of him. Gripping the reins tightly in his hands, he tossed a glance over his shoulders, looking back at Felix. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Felix’s eyes gazed over Sylvain’s hands, taking in the lack of rope burns across his palm. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms tightly around Sylvain’s back, clenching the front of his freshly-changed shirt tightly. He took in the warmth of the man in front of him, feeling lighter and airier and softer than he had in years.

“Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> where do i even begin...?
> 
> writing this fic was such an experience. i didn't expect to end up writing 10k, let alone _30k_ for a single one-shot. i don't think i'll ever write this much again in one go, but we'll see.
> 
> i actually don't know what to say here. i think throughout the time i spent writing this, i kept thinking of "oh i should put this in the author's note" but now that i'm actually here posting it, well all i can say is that i hope people liked the fic. i really put my heart and soul into it.
> 
> it's also really late over here (3am gang rise up) so if you notice any glaring errors, i'm sorry!
> 
> if you've read through this entire fic, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart, and i hope you enjoyed reading it! please leave a comment and a kudos if you liked the fic. those really encourage me to write more (_especially_ comments) and believe me, i've got a lot of fic ideas i'm planning to write.
> 
> twitter: [serosephim](https://twitter.com/serosephim)


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